


Hidden Identity

by Peps4lyfe



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - No Powers, F/M, Family, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Hydra (Marvel), Minor Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanov, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Natasha Romanov, Protective Steve Rogers, SHIELD, Undercover Missions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-09-13 18:18:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 26
Words: 198,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9135826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peps4lyfe/pseuds/Peps4lyfe
Summary: Broken. Scared. Running. Wanda Maximoff knows nothing beyond those three words after her and her brother, Pietro, get tangled up with Hydra. Steve Rogers and Natasha Romanoff, two S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, are assigned to protect Wanda from the Red Skull, along with Sam Wilson, Clint Barton and Tony Stark. They give Wanda a new identity and together, take refuge in Manhattan where she meets Peter Parker, a boy who finally makes her feel alive after years of being on the run. But Hydra is still after her. And no matter where she goes, she is never safe.





	1. Wanda Maximoff

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [struck by lightning (and now our love's been set ablaze)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1810522) by [chalantness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chalantness/pseuds/chalantness). 

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wanda Maximoff is introduced to her new life in New York City.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and welcome to my new story! This story follows around Wanda Maximoff and her journey through her junior year of high school at Manhattan Academy. Many Marvel characters will be present throughout this story.
> 
> I was inspired by a drabble written by Chalantness about Peter and Wanda in the chapter called "I'll still be here when you're ready" (the link should be at the top). I really recommend checking the story out! I thought the pairing was quite different but still very beautiful. For the purposes of this story, Wanda is going to be a few years younger than she is in the Marvel Cinematic Universe.
> 
> I plan on this story being told from the perspective of Wanda and Steve in the first person. The chapter title will be based on whose POV it is.
> 
> Thanks for the reading!

Chapter One: Wanda Maximoff

_My name is Wanda Maximoff. I am seventeen years old. I used to live in Salem, Oregon. My mother’s name is Natasha Romanoff. My father’s name is Steve Rogers; my mother opted to keep her maiden name. My mother is an interior decorator. My father is a cartoonist for a newspaper. After a successful start to his career, my father was offered a spot at the New York Times, which is why we moved to Manhattan. I am an adopted child, who decided to keep my last name of Maximoff. I did it in honor of my parents, who died from an epidemic. I like psychology and cheese pizza with ranch._

I stared at the words etched in my messy handwriting on the crinkled up piece of notebook paper. After rereading it for what felt like the hundredth time, I was confident that I knew my story quite well and shoved the piece of paper back into my pocket. My name wasn’t really Wanda Maximoff, and my parents really weren’t Natasha Romanoff and Steve Rogers but this was my new life. I had to accept that, otherwise I would be dead.

“Do you have everything?” came a calm yet stern voice from behind me.

I turned around to see the silhouette of a very large man striding towards me. Steve Rogers, the man who was supposed to be my father, towered over me, and every time I stood beside him, I felt intimidated by his sheer size. His arms bulged and his shirt that always seemed a size too small emphasized his near perfect physique. His hair was sandy blonde hair and combed back out of his face; the length and size of his hair was practical for his occupation. Steve’s blue eyes, though intense and serious, were still welcoming.

“Yeah…” I muttered, shoving the piece of paper further into my jacket pocket.

Steve stared at me for a long second, as if he could see right through my façade. “Do you need a minute? I can tell Natasha to stall the cab driver a bit more – if you want.”

I shook my head, a feeling of disgust creeping into the back of my throat. This _hotel room_ that Natasha and Steve had confined me to contained more bad memories than that of sentimental memories.

“No, I just want to leave,” I said, standing up from the foot the bed.

“Here,” Steve said, reaching into one of his pockets and handing me a small journal.

I took it and scanned the pages; they were blank. “What is this for?”

“It’s nearly a thirteen hour flight from Sokovia to New York. Nat and I thought it would be a good time for us to solidify our back story,” Steve whispered, as if he thought that there was someone listening in on our conversation. “We already have the preliminary information down – you seem to reading that quite a bit – but we think it would be good for us to create a more in-depth biography, and it’ll be good for us to get to know our _daughter_ a little bit better.”

“Right, daughter… Good thing I’m adopted. I look nothing like Natasha,” I muttered. While my blonde hair and blue eyes could easily have passed off as traits I got from Steve, Natasha was harder to explain, considering her fiery red hair and blazing brown eyes.

“True, but you do know we’ll have to change your appearance, _Wanda_ ,” Steve said. “It’s not safe for you to look the same.”

“Right…” I muttered again, pulling at a strand of my blonde hair.

“Cab driver is gettin’ real antsy,” I heard Natasha say over comms in her regularly snarky tone.

Steve smirked and pressed his finger onto his communicator. “We’ll be out in a second. Did you get everything packed up?”

Natasha chuckled. “Who do you think you’re talking to, Rogers? I’ve got all the fake IDS, government documents and guns a girl could need.”

I raised my eyebrows. “No luggage?” I asked. I already knew that I wasn’t allowed to bring any personal items to the states but I didn’t realize that extended to Steve and Natasha as well.

Steve shook his head. “We can’t bring anything that could link us to Sokovia.”

“Oh…” I whispered.

“Seriously, guys, the driver is getting impatient,” Natasha said.

“You ready to go?” Steve asked, holding out his hand.

I nodded and took his hand. We left the shabby room I had been staying at for a few days. As we walked, I turned to Steve and asked, “What time is our flight?”

“Take off is whenever we get there. It’s a private airplane,” Steve clarified. “One of my good friends is flying us out. He just doesn’t like it when we’re late.”

 _Of course S.H.I.E.L.D. would get us our own private jet,_ I thought as we left the apartment.

Steve opened the apartment door for me and helped me down the uneven stone-staircase to the road where Natasha was waiting. I followed Steve to the thankfully deserted and poorly lit brick street where a yellow, run-down cab was waiting. The smell of alcohol and tobacco wafted in the night air; the sounds of sirens could be heard all throughout the night. The part of town that Steve and Natasha were keeping me was not the nicest, nor was the apartment with its rusted and shut windows and mossy roof, but it was inconspicuous and served its purpose well.

“What? Were you napping?” Natasha smirked as Steve greeted her.

“I didn’t want to rush her,” Steve muttered.

Natasha’s smirk disappeared from her face and was replaced with a thin line. Compared to the looming man standing beside her, Natasha Romanoff, dubbed Black Widow by her counterparts in S.H.I.E.L.D., was slender and small, though anyone who knew her understood that she was lethal. As she stood beside Steve, who was exchanging words with the cab driver, Natasha kept one hand pressed fervently against her hip where she no doubt kept her favorite firearm.

“You made sure to check the driver?” Steve whispered.

Natasha nodded. “Yeah, he’s clean. He’s Fury-approved.”

Steve opened the cab door for Natasha, who slipped inside first, and I followed. I was sandwiched in the back of the cab between Steve and Natasha, both of whom kept silent for the entire car ride. They stared out the windows, their bodies’ stiff with what I assumed was the expectation that every turn the car made was leading us to a trap. I peered through the window of the cab, noticing that the more we drove, the less buildings, lights and people there were.

I took a deep breath. _You can trust them. They’re here to help,_ I reassured myself. I’ve been saying this mantra for a week now ever since…well, ever since Pietro.

“We’re here,” Steve finally said as the cab rolled to the stop.

I looked out the window: we were parked beside an empty strip of land. From the distance, I could just barely make out the lights that were on the wing of a small airplane sitting in the middle of the field.

“Stay here,” Steve commanded, seriously. “I’ll check the plane and make sure that it isn’t compromised.”

Steve patted my thigh before jogging off to the airplane, his hand on the gun that was strapped to his holster. With Steve gone, I suddenly felt uncomfortable, not because I didn’t think that Natasha was capable of protecting me without Steve but because Natasha was less open than Steve was. Steve was a more willing to share parts of his past – his days in the army, old war stories, and even his nickname _Captain America_. Other than Natasha’s nickname, Black Widow, she was a secret to me. Not knowing the people that were watching over me made me feel uneasy.

“Steve gave you the journal, right?” Natasha asked.

“Yeah,” I muttered.

Natasha’s head drooped down and for a second, I thought she looked almost shameful about something. Before she could say anything else, though, we heard a brisk knock on the window.

“It’s all clear,” Steve said. He popped open the door for us and I followed Natasha outside. “Wanda, Nat, I want you to meet Sam Wilson. He’s a personal friend of mine, and a great pilot, too.”

Standing beside Steve was a tall African American man who was a little less bulky than Steve with a warm, crooked smile, and dressed in gray jeans and an olive green shirt. This man, Sam Wilson, extended his hand. “Name’s Sam Wilson, but you’ll come to know me as your personal chauffeur for – well, for as long as you need me.”

Steve chuckled. “He’ll be transporting us from place to place.”

“Natasha Romanoff,” Nat said, taking Sam’s hand; he planted a kiss on her knuckles.

“Please excuse Sam. He’s a bit of a flirt,” Steve said, rolling his eyes.

“You were the pilot in the Khalid Khandil mission, right?” Natasha said, unfazed by Sam’s clear signs of affection. “That was pretty impressive.”

“Says the girl who prefers to use tasers over a few guns,” Sam said. “You sure you can handle yourself on a mission like this?”

Natasha chuckled. “You wanna see first hand how I fight?”

“I wouldn’t do it, Sam,” Steve said, chuckling. “We’ve done some hand to hand combat back when we first met, full gear and everything. Still have the burns from her Widow’s Bite.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Sam said, laughing. He turned to look at me. “You must be – Wanda?”

I nodded, tentatively; I was still not used to that name.

“You’re young,” Sam said. “How old is she?”

“Seventeen,” Steve said, impatiently. “We can save the small talk for later. Do you mind if we get on the plane before anyone sees us?”

“No problem,” Sam said. He leaned into my ear. “Steve was never the patient kind. There’s no wonder why he could never score back when we were in the army.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “You _know_ that’s not true.”

I felt the edges of my mouth twitch. Though I hardly knew him, I already liked Sam simply because he was able to bring some levity to a situation where all else was practically hopeless.

Natasha, keeping one strong arm pressed against my back, escorted me to the plane. Steve and Sam took what little luggage we had stored in the trunk onto the plane and once inside, Sam slipped into the cockpit. S.H.I.E.L.D. must have pulled out all the stops to make sure that this ride to the states was comfortable as the plane was lavish, with glowing head lights, a television set, leather seats, and even a small cart in the corner where food and drinks were stored. But despite the first-class appearance, I knew all too well that this airplane was equipped to survive a storm of bullets and potential invasion from enemies. Knowing Steve and Natasha, there were probably loads of guns and ammunition hidden underneath the leather seats.

“Welcome to Casa de Wilson,” Sam said over the intercom. “This is going to be about a twelve and a half hour flight. Try to kick back and relax. It should be a smooth flight – as long as no one tries to kill us.”

Steve groaned. “That’s hilarious, Sam.”

“Please keep yourself seatbelt on at all times and your two suitcases stowed properly,” Sam continued. “And seriously? Two suitcases? Is that it?”

“SAM!” Steve snapped.

I heard faint laughter.

“What am I going to do about my clothes?” I asked.

“There’ll be a new wardrobe waiting for you in New York,” Natasha said. “We picked it out specifically to go with the current style of your new school – you won’t stand out, I promise.”

“So I don’t get to keep anything from my old life?” I asked.

Steve sighed. “You know why you can’t, Wanda – and, I know this may not be the best time, but you have to start using your American accent. You’re supposed to be from Salem, Oregon – not Sokovia.”

“Right,” I muttered. “Is this better?” I asked, using my most convincing accent.

“That’s pretty good!” I heard Sam yell from the cockpit.

“Eavesdropper,” Steve muttered. “But he’s right. It’s very convincing. Now why don’t we start working on that back story for you, huh?”

I pulled out the journal and took the pen that Natasha handed me. “Thanks… So, what should I write?”

“Doesn’t matter – you can become whoever you want,” Steve said. “Wanda Maximoff can be whoever you want her to be.”

“As long as it’s reasonable,” Natasha said. “A key part in selling a new identity is grounding it in reality.”

“Right,” I muttered and stared at the blank page of the journal. “Um, we lived in a two story house,” I started and began scribbling my thoughts into the notebook. “One neighbor played music all night, another was always playing basketball. I really enjoyed going to sporting events, especially – soccer and, um, what’s another big sport there?”

“Trail Blazers,” Steve said. “Basketball team.”

I nodded. “Yeah – them. We used to go to Blazer games. Steve and I–…”

“ _Your dad_ ,” Steve corrected, firmly.

I sighed. “Right. _My dad_ and I went to Blazer games – we shared season tickets with – with our neighbor.”

“Favorite player?” Natasha probed.

I froze. Natasha chuckled. She pulled out an iPad, typed in _Portland Trail Blazers_ and blew up the results to display as a holograph in front of Steve, Natasha and me.

“Let’s go mainstream,” Natasha said. “Damian Lillard.”

“Favorite game?” Steve said.

Natasha scrolled through some of the results. “The one where the Blazers blew out Golden State.”

“What’s Golden State?” I asked.

Natasha chuckled. “Big NBA team. What other hobbies do you have?”

“Um – I used to run track…” I stopped dead in tracks, and I felt a sudden jab of pain in the middle of stomach. I closed the notebook. “Maybe we could pick this up some other time. I’m kind of tired.”

Natasha and Steve looked at each other.

“Track?” Steve finally said. “I thought you hated running…”

“Pietro liked to run,” I whispered.

Steve gave me a half-hearted smile and patted my back, which was supposed to be a comforting gesture. “Wanda, everything is going to be okay.”

I couldn’t help myself: I laughed without humor. “You said that to me before, and you were wrong.”

Natasha sighed, “Wanda, you have to understand that these _situations_ are delicate. What happened back at the water park – we tried everything we could. You just have to trust us.”

As I saw the pain in Natasha and Steve’s eyes, I suddenly felt guilty for outburst against them. After all, they were giving up everything for me.

“I know…” I muttered.

But in my head, I couldn’t help but question my trust, not for Natasha and Steve, but for whom they work: S.H.I.E.L.D. Because after Pietro and I reached out to S.H.I.E.L.D. for help, _they_ found us. The people who wanted us dead found where my brother and I were hiding. Natasha and Steve, as much of a super soldier and a fearless spy that they were, couldn’t save my brother from being killed in front of me.

My brother in mind, I spent another two hours of the flight crafting a new identity for myself with Steve and Natasha. They added their own input in big things, such as the name of my old school, birthdays, things like that wereimperative for all of us to have consistent, but other than that, I had free reign. And when my hand was cramped up from writing so much and when I sick of creating a life that wasn’t really mine, I tucked the journal away, turned off the light and went to the bed.

Thankfully, the flight went by smoothly; _they_ hadn’t figured out where Natasha and Steve were taking me. I slid open the window where I saw the sun barely peaking through the gray clouds of the New York skyline. As the plane descended past the clouds, I realized that Sam was flying straight toward the top of a high-rise complex that had a landing zone with a _S_ in the center. Five electric blue letters stood at the top of the building and spelled _STARK._ Sam landed the plane on top of the building with a jolt before leaving the cockpit to join us.

“Tony Stark?” I asked. “He’s helping us?”

Even someone who grew up in Sokovia like myself knew who Tony Stark was. Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist – the title of his feature in a magazine in Sokovia.

“Do you have something against Stark?” Natasha asked.

“He get involved in an arms deal with the Sokovian government. Things got ugly,” I said, bitterly.

“I’m not denying that Stark doesn’t have a long list of problems but he’s a good friend of mine,” Steve said, “and he’s been doing a lot to help you so I’d give him the benefit of the doubt. Mistakes people make in the past shouldn’t define their future.”

“Unfortunately for me, it does,” I muttered.

Steve sighed. “Stark is setting up the security systems at our new apartment. Plus, this is the only private building in New York where we can safely land this thing.”

“And it’s the most beautiful building in New York City,” came a voice from the shadows. I spun around to see Tony Stark strutting toward us, wearing a sleek suit with pink-lensed sunglasses. “Well, if it isn’t America’s Golden Boy and his oh-so-trustworthy partner.”

“I’m guessing you haven’t gotten over my and Fury’s little stunt a few years ago?” Natasha smirked.

“Never have. Never will, _Natalie_ ,” Tony sneered. Natasha smiled.

“Stark,” Steve said, extending his forward; Stark took it and shook is curtly. “It’s good to see you.”

“It’s always good to see me,” Stark said, laughing. “J.A.R.V.I.S., secure the building.”

“Building secure,” said an automated male voice with a British accent that seemed to come from the walls or even the ground.

“Come on in,” Stark said. “Right now this is the safest building in all of New York. Nobody will be able to get inside, no one can hack into our mainframe, no one is going to even know that you’re here.” Stark looked at me. “This her?”

Steve nodded, “Yeah.”

“Name?” Stark asked, still staring at me.

“Cover name is Wanda Maximoff,” Steve said.

“Interesting name – and you’re trying to pretend that that’s an Oregon name, right?” Stark snorted. “Very convincing.”

“I think my American accent sells it,” I whispered.

Stark chuckled. “Compared to what other accent?”

“ _Compared to this_ ,” I said, revealing the thick Sokovian accent that surely wouldn’t pass as someone from Salem, Oregon.

Stark shrugged. “I guess that is pretty convincing. Come on. Let’s go upstairs.”

As we started walking through Stark’s home toward the staircase, I had to admit, his home was absolutely beautiful: black marble and expensive fur carpets, glass tables and what looked like custom made leather couches. There was a TV, computer or some sort of technological devise in every room we went through. A bar was perched in the far corner of the main living room, with glass cups, colored chandelier lights and what looked like an almost too perfect bowl of fruit; a pool table was across from the bar. Wrapping around the side of the living room was a glass staircase.

“Nice, huh?” Stark said, grinning.

He led us up the glass staircase. The upstairs looked a computer lab, with expensive glass flat screens and a large computer directly in the center.

“Stark, focus. This is a serious,” Steve said.

Stark raised his hand up in surrender.  “Right, I’m focusing. J.A.R.V.I.S., can you pull the file on this case?”

“What exactly is _J.A.R.V.I.S._?” I asked.

“Ah, good friend of mine.”

“That you created yourself,” Natasha muttered, earning a chuckle from Sam.

Stark ignored her and continued, “He’s artificial computer intelligence that assists me with my business ventures and the security of my building. He’s practically a real person. Right, J.A.R.V.I.S.?”

“Naturally, Mr. Stark,” the computer echoed back, politely. “The files are all pulled up. Would you like me to display them on the main screens?”

“That’d be great,” Stark said and just like that, a set of pictures, including ones of Natasha, Steve, Stark, Sam and three others, and screenshots of paperwork showed up on the glass screens in front of us.

“What is this?” I asked.

“This is everything we have on you, your brother and your – er, _situation_ ,” Steve said. “We’ll be communicating through comms, all of which are linked to each other. Obviously, you know my and Nat’s cover. You know how Stark plays into this – as the security advisor. Sam will be our permanent transportation for as long as needed – he’ll drive us to and from places, and he will also act as your new school’s psychologist. This is Nick Fury. He’s the leader of S.H.I.E.L.D., overseeing this operation, though you already knew that. Clint Barton – another undercover agent posing as our neighbor. He or Sam will most likely be tailing you in all situations.”

“And what’s the blank photo for?” I asked.

“Our insider. The only person who knows about his identity is Fury.”

“Which, may I add, is ridiculous,” Stark said.

I ignored Stark. “Insider where?”

Steve sighed. “Hydra.”

This simple five-letter name sent a wave of terror down my back. That organization, that _horrible mob_ , is single handedly responsible for taking everything that I loved away from me.

I tried to swallow my fear as I asked, “Is Hydra here in New York, too?”

Natasha shook her head. “No, Hydra mostly affects international, third-world countries on the brink of a civil war – trying to exploit social problems to gain power in order to subjugate people and take away their freedom. Don’t get me wrong, Hydra has its ties in the US but not like it did in Sokovia.”

“So we’ll be able to stop Hydra from Manhattan, right?”

“Yes and no. We mostly relocated here to keep you away from Hydra but there’s a few leads that might help us figure out where Hydra’s headquarters are,” Natasha said, “but while we’re here, you’re going to try to live a life as normal as humanly possible. Make friends. Join clubs. Do what normal teenagers do.”

“But try not to get killed by an international mob?” I muttered.

“You still gonna train her?” Sam asked.

Nat nodded. “I think her knowing how to take care of herself is pretty important.”

“Speaking of which, I got some things for you,” Stark said, grabbing a bag from the opposite counter and then setting it in front of me. “Some toys that I thought you might enjoy. This may look like an ordinary pen but it contains high-concentrations of chloroform gas. You spray it and whoever's on the receiving end will be knocked unconscious. Two hairpins, tips covered in poison. I don’t know if you like killing, but if you ever have to, use these. And–,” Stark pulled up a small white cap disguised like a back molar, “this multi-tasks: a tracking device and hearing device. J.A.R.V.I.S. and I will be monitoring you the entire time. If you get anywhere that seems funky, someone will be there in a heart beat.”

“How do you get that in?” I asked.

“That’s the not so fun part,” Steve said. “We’ll have to replace one of your teeth – make it look legitimate.”

“Are you okay with that?” Natasha asked.

“Anything to help, I suppose. When do we put it in?” I asked.

“Now, if you wouldn’t mind,” Steve said. “You’ll have to wear a mask, though – we all will to protect our identities.”

“We’ll also have to dye your hair,” Natasha said.

“And put in contacts,” Steve added.

“Right,” I nodded. “Which one do we do first?”

“Hair,” Natasha said, “I’ll be doing it.”

“Come on, I’ll take you to my health facility,” Stark said.

“You have your own health facility here?” Sam asked, incredulously.

“Of course,” Stark said, chuckling. “Who do you think I am? Hank Pym?”

I would have laughed except I didn’t know who Hank Pym was.

It was like stepping into a small hospital: it was equipped with beeping machines that I didn’t recognize, hospital beds, scalpels, drills and even a Cat Scanner. Stark pointed to a small chair where I was told to take a seat. Behind me, Natasha had already started to mix a brown, thick substance in the plastic bowl. She set it down on a counter and then pulled out some scissors.

“We’re going to cut it a bit. Nothing drastic,” Natasha said. “Don’t worry, I know how to cut hair. It was my cover a while back.”

“Were you still Natasha Romanoff on that cover?” I asked.

“Anne Raisa,” she said. She set the scissors down and grabbed the dye.

“What color are we doing?” I asked.

“Brown,” Natasha said. “And your contacts will be brown, too.”

“Oh,” I muttered.

“It blends in,” Natasha said.

When Natasha was finished disfiguring my appearance until I could hardly recognize myself, I was then dragged over into a chair where I had to a wear a ski mask to protect my identity from the dentist operating on me. The operation went smoothly. Steve and Natasha watched the entire time as the dentist numbed my mouth and then put me under, and I suspected they both had one hand on their guns the entire time. When I woke up, I felt a blinding pain in the side of my cheek. A set of strong arms helped me out of my seat: Steve.

“Operation went smoothly,” Steve said. “You’ll be in a bit of a pain for a few days but you should be fine.”

“Ready to go, Sam?” Natasha asked.

Sam sighed, “Yeah… I hate New York traffic.”

“If you want, I could always fly you over traffic to get you to the apartment,” Stark offered.

“Flying an airplane over New York isn’t exactly the definition of inconspicuous, Tony,” Natasha said, reprovingly.

“Whatever you say,” Tony said. “Guess I’ll stay up here and keep monitoring you guys. Call me if you need anything.”

“Thanks Tony,” Steve said, suddenly very serious.

The smile melted from Tony’s face, “Anytime. Unless I’m in the middle of a vacation. Don’t try calling me then.”

Steve chuckled, “See ya.”


	2. Wanda Maximoff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wanda, Steve and Natasha move into their new apartment where they meet their neighbor, Clint Barton.

Chapter Two: Wanda Maximoff

Despite Steve’s clear attempts to get us to move closer and closer toward the door, Tony had the unbelievable talent of distracting us from leaving. He took a great interest in Natasha’s electric batons, tracing his finger across the detailing on the edges and even offering to revamp her uniform in order for her outfit to be more suiting for her fighting technique. Tony moved onto Sam, who took great interest in the blueprints of some huge flying machine that Tony called _the Quinjet._ When Tony was about to take Sam to show him the prototypes of the Quinjet, Steve finally put his foot down and demanded for us to leave. Stark gave Natasha one last parting gift, an expensive looking bottle of wine with gold detailing on the bottle, before we said our goodbyes to Tony (and to J.A.R.V.I.S. at Tony’s insistence). Outside, there was an ugly looking, small yellow cab parked outside for us, very similar to the one that drove us to the plane in Sokovia. Knowing S.H.I.E.L.D., though, this cab must be a notch under the president’s car when it comes to security: a machine gun hidden in the front and the back, completely bullet proof, and strong enough windows to withstand a mini rocket launcher.

“Not the nicest,” Sam explained as he merged into traffic. “But it blends in quite well so, until Stark gives me an upgrade, it’ll do.”

“It’s a little small,” Natasha said, “And it smells like mothballs.”

Sam chuckled, “Just get an air freshener.”

“How far is our – new home?” I asked, wincing as I did, my mouth still extremely tender from the operation.

“Ten minutes away from Stark’s place, seven minutes away from the NYPD station and eleven minutes from the high school,” Steve explained, matter-of-a-factly. “It was the best option there was, not to mention there’s a little building we live by we can use as our safe house. Oh, and I have something for you.” Steve handed me a cell phone and a room key. “This is the key to the apartment and this is a phone for you. All of our numbers are already programmed in – including the NYPD and a number that takes you directly to a S.H.I.E.L.D. hotline. If you are unable to call for any given reason, there’s also an emergency contact that you can use. It’s programmed under ‘ _emergencies’_. You click that contact, almost ten federal agents will be sent your GPS coordinates and they’ll come running for you. Other than that, though, you can use it like any regular teenager would – but all the texts, voice mails, pictures, and anything you download and add to your phone will be vetted thoroughly by Mr. Stark.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle humorlessly. “So really, I have no privacy,” I muttered.

“I don’t think Stark is going to care what you text to people. Just don’t sext,” Sam said, laughing.

Steve frowned. “I know this doesn’t sound ideal and I understand that this isn’t every teenager’s dream but we’re doing this to protect you. Just try to live as normal of a life as you can. I’m not going to promise you that we’ll take down Hydra, but I can promise you that we will do everything in our power to try to make your life a little bit easier.”

“Taking down an rogue international criminal organization like HYDRA takes time,” Natasha said, seriously, “You have to be patient.”

“I have been patient…” I muttered.

I hated sounding ungrateful toward Natasha and Steve; they’ve given up their own lives, left their friends and family just so my and – originally – my brother’s life was safe. I wanted to blame them so badly for what happened at the water park. _They_ could have protected me from Hydra if they had gotten there sooner. My brother would still be with me… There were a lot of things that Natasha and Steve could have done to help me. But I knew it came down to my own mistakes. I’m the reason Hydra is after me, not Natasha or Steve.

“Damn it!” I heard Sam yell.

I jumped at the sound of Sam’s outburst. Beside me, I felt Steve tense up. “What is it?” He asked, his face stern.

“Oh sorry! Forgot we were on a mission for a second. Some guy cut in front of me so I couldn’t take the turn,” Sam said, sighing. “It’ll just be a couple more minutes.”

Natasha’s shoulders slumped as she realized there was no threat and she removed her hand from the gun stowed at her hip. “Try not to scare us like that next time.”

“Right, sorry,” Sam said.

Sighing in relief, I turned to look out the window, forcing my breath to even out. As we inched forward on the road, I took notice of how unhappy and stern looking all the pedestrians seemed as they rushed across the heavily crowded cement sidewalks that was lit up by the glowing buildings and headlights. Buildings on almost every inch of open area that wasn’t being used as a street or a sidewalk shot up into the sky. When we finally stopped, the apartment that Sam pulled in front of seemed humble compared to the other buildings. The shiny doors and ladders connecting to balconies seemed refurbished as they were quite shiny and the paint was immaculate. However, there were unruly vines growing on the side of the apartment and pieces of shingles were chipped off on the rooftop. Beside the apartment was an empty building that had no “available for rent” sign or anything of the sorts plastered on the window and then a pizza parlor on the other side of the apartment, one that I could smell from the dingy cab.

Sam parked the taxicab into one of the reserved unloading parking spots near the front of the apartment. Careful of traffic, Sam and Steve went to the back of the taxi where they began unloading our suitcases as Natasha and I stood on the sidewalk, watching them. The outside smelled of pizza and fumes from all the cars; in the distance, I could hear horns honking and a hum of music. I offered to take one of the smaller suitcases and helped drag them up the stairs where Steve buzzed the three of us in. We said our goodbyes to Sam, who quickly peeled away before anyone could call for a taxi.

The reception area inside the apartment was small and simple, going along with the exterior of the building. On one side was a line of rustic slots with apartment numbers engraved on the left. Guest bathrooms were on the right. In the front, the landlord sat lazily in front of his desk, chair tilted back, large soda in hand and looked as though he was watching something on his computer. As Steve, Natasha and I entered, the landlord leaned forward, a look of unhappiness on his face.

“Nat, why don’t you and Wanda go up to the apartment and get settled in. I’ll talk to the landlord and get the paperwork filled out,” Steve said.

“Are all the boxes there?” Natasha asked.

Steve nodded. “Yeah, Fury and Clint made sure that they got our stuff here by yesterday. Fury also made sure that there are some design plans laid out of for the house – we’re supposed to make it look like an interior decorator lives there, right.”

Nat laughed. She took the other suitcase from Steve and together we lugged them up the carpet staircase, which was dimly lit and smelled faintly of laundry detergent. “What kind of stuff did Fury ship to the apartment?” I asked, trying to keep up with Natasha, who seemed to have no problem making her way up the staircase even with the heavy suitcase. “A bunch of random pictures of me when I was a baby? I mean, it’s not like we’re–.”

Natasha pressed her hand on my shoulder. “Just because you’re adopted doesn’t mean we’re a _real_ family.” Her face was stern.

“Right, sorry mom,” I said, quietly, suddenly remembering that I was no longer my old self. I had to assume the identity of Wanda Maximoff.

When we reached the sixth floor, we exited the staircase where we stepped into an open area surrounded by six other doors and lit by an overhead light that looked dangerously close to coming apart; the light cast a yellow-sickly film onto the green carpet beneath us. Natasha reached into her pocket and pulled out the key to our apartment when we heard the sound of footsteps from behind us. I turned around, a feeling of terrible fear rising through my body but judging by the look on Natasha’s face – the lightheartedness in her eyes and the small smile forming – I assumed that whoever was approaching us wasn’t a threat. Behind me, a man with reddish brown hair, a round face, wrinkles around his eyes and thin facial hair approached us. It was the man that Stark showed us – Clint something. He extended his hand, a friendly smile stretched across his face.

“Nice to meet you,” Clint said. “Name’s Clint Barton. You must be the new neighbor in the building.”

Natasha smiled, “Natasha Romanoff. This is my daughter, Wanda. My husband, Steve, is downstairs with the landlord.”

Clint slowly turned to look at me: his eyes scanned me up and down, taking in every detail of my appearance very carefully. I almost felt uncomfortable with the way that he was studying me with intensity.  “It’s a pleasure to meet you two. I’m right across the hall in 6C. Do you guys need any help unpacking?”

“No. We’ll be able to handle it,” Natasha said.

“Alright,” Clint said. He turned to look at me. “If you need anything, just call.”

“Why don’t you come over for dinner tonight? We can get to know the neighbors.” Natasha said. “7:00?”

“Sounds good,” Clint said. He winked and then trudged back into 6C.

Natasha watched as Clint walked away before she turned back to the door marked 6A where the key was already inserted into the lock. She twisted it, I heard the lock click and then she pushed the door open. I took a hesitant step inside. I was first greeted with the nauseating scent of bleach, suggesting that someone, though most likely not the landlord, had just spent a good amount of time cleaning up the place. On the left was a small kitchen with beautiful granite counters and glossy wood floors. In the carpeted living room in front were a pristine leather couch and a television set hanging above a fire place. An empty glass coffee table stood in front of the leather couch. Just beyond the living room was a set of windows that overlooked the busy streets and thin curtains tied back. On either side of the living room were closed doors.

Other than any major piece of furniture or equipment, the apartment was bare. The partially opened drawers lining in the kitchen were empty, the slots in the cabinet where the TV stood had nothing inside. Other than the large household items, like the couches, the kitchen table in front of the kitchen counter, there was nothing. Stacks of boxes stood in the open parts of the living room and kitchen. Blueprints of the apartment and cut-out pictures from magazines were placed on top of the counter, where three high-standing chairs were placed so we could eat at the kitchen counter inside of the kitchen table.

“Your bedroom is on the left. There’s a bathroom connecting to it. Our room is on the right,” Natasha said. “There are boxes labeled clearly for you to unpack. You can design your room however you want. If you need help, you can always ask your interior decorator of a mom.”

“Thank you.” I said, trying desperately to make it clear that I was thanking her for more than just the offer of helping to design my bedroom.

Natasha nodded, warmly. “This entire apartment, and Clint’s, is secure. No one can bug it – besides Stark, of course – so you don’t have to pretend here.”

“Okay…” I nodded.

“I’ll let you unpack,” Natasha said.

I silently walked into my new room where, as I expected, a bare bed was already waiting with white blankets and a matching comforter folded on top; beside the door was an empty white desk. On the left wall: a bookshelf, the right: a walk-in closet and a bathroom. There was a stack of boxes, some labeled _clothes_ , others _books_ and a few were unlabeled, assumingly random knick-knacks that S.H.I.E.L.D. got for me to give Wanda Maximoff personality and interests. I cut open one of those unlabeled boxes and pulled out a photograph with a silver frame; it was picture of Steve, Nat and me standing in front of the White House. Photoshopped. Another of me when I looked to be in the seventh grade, linking arms with three girls that I had never seen before. In fact, everything in these boxes just _wasn't m_ e: the books had creased spines indicating that they had been read often, even though I had never seen most of those novels; trendy clothes that S.H.I.E.L.D. thought I would like; nail polish that looked opened and loved but were colors that I would never wear; and snow globes of places that I most likely would never get the chance to visit.

Everything felt so out of place, so wrong. I tossed the picture that I was holding away from me. I pulled out the one picture that I forced Steve and Natasha to let me keep from my pocket; it was folded up, creased and loved. It was a picture of Pietro, my parents and me when I was six years old – one of the last pictures we ever took as a family before my parents died. It was before Pietro and I nearly lost everything, before my brother turned to Hydra to provide for us. Before Hydra took my brother away from me.

I heard a knock at the door. Quickly, I stowed the photo back into my pocket and ran to open the door. Steve was waiting for me on the other side. “Do you mind if I come in?”

“Um, sure,” I said. “Have you finished filling out the paperwork?”

“Most of it.” The doorway was barely tall enough for Steve to get through without having to duck. Once inside, he looked around, noticed that I only pulled out the one picture lying upside down on my bed and asked, “Do you need any help unpacking? Nat looks like she can handle the kitchen and living room by herself.”

“No, that’s okay. I can manage,” I said as I started to pull apart the untouched sheets on the top of my bed _._

“Right, I'll leave you alone then. Clint’s coming over at seven to discuss – your situation. And tomorrow, we’re gonna start doing some training, just basic stuff. I doubt it’ll be needed,” Steve said quickly.

“Steve?” I heard Natasha yell from the other room. “Can you give me a hand with moving this table?”

“Yeah!” He shouted.

Steve gave me a sheepish smile before leaving without another word. Trying to keep myself focused on the task at hand, I made my bed and then turned to the boxes of clothes – that was easy to unpack since it was just clothes. No sentimental value, no fake memories associated with it, no back story that I needed to create. Just clothes. As I organized my closet and laid out all the shoes S.H.I.E.L.D. had got for me, I suddenly felt a new sense of gratitude toward Natasha. While I obviously couldn’t have kept any of my old wardrobe, Natasha had ordered clothes that suited me: ripped jeans, black hoodies, clothing with odd details and shapes, and lots of things that really did make me feel like _myself,_ unlike everything else in this room. Other than the clothes, though, everything else felt out of sorts. The makeup that I would never wear, the Kate Spade, gold-studded planners and pens, all was too _expensive_ for me.

 _You’re not_ you, _though,_ I reminded myself. _You’re Wanda Maximoff._

I kept that mantra in mind as I unpacked the rest of the boxes. When it was nearly dinner, I was finished organizing my closet and my desk, which contained items from the box labeled _school._ All I had left was my bathroom and the knick knacks that I was putting off for as long as I could. Exhausted, I went to the kitchen, where empty boxes were thrown into a pile on our living room floor and classical music played in the background. Steve was at the stove, tossing a salad and stirring a large pot of something on the stove. Natasha, meanwhile, was cleaning off expensive looking china and displaying it on a cup rack on our kitchen counter.

“It’s open!” Natasha suddenly shouted, not looking up from the china.

I looked around, “Who are you–?”

“Smells good!” Clint Barton said, bursting through the doorway.

“How did you know?” I asked, in awe.

Clint chuckled. “No one can sneak up on her without her knowing about it. Brought this for us!” Clint said, setting an expensive looking bottle of wine on the kitchen counter. “It’s for the cover. It’d look a little weird if I was coming over for dinner without bringing a little something.”

“I think some wine would be nice,” Natasha said, taking the bottle from Clint.

“Really?” Clint said, “When you’re on the job?”

“Traveling really takes it out of me,” Natasha said. She set out two of the china glasses and popped open the wine bottle.

“Steve, you want any?” Clint asked.

Steve shook his head. “No, I’m not a drinker.”

“Really? Big guy can’t hold his drinks?”

Steve laughed as he poured himself and me a glass of water. “Don’t worry, I can. I just don’t feel like drinking anything. Dinner’s ready.”

“What are we having?” Clint asked. “I’m starved.”

“Homemade soup,” Steve said, “My mother’s recipe.”

“Soup?” Clint asked in disbelief. “I thought Nat said you were making _good_ food!”

Steve rolled his eyes. He began to dish out yellow looking soup into four bowls, which I helped to set onto the kitchen table. “Wanda just got her teeth pulled out so this is one of the only meals that she can have.” Natasha set glass goblets in front of us: Steve’s and mine were filled with ice water while Natasha and Clint had wine. When we settled in with our food and drinks, Clint, Steve and Natasha dug in right away. However, I stared for what felt like a very long time at the bowl of food. The soup was yellow-ish with small looking noodles and mushy vegetables, no meat added. I had never had this type of soup before, and my sudden disdain toward anything new made me hesitate to eat.

“Don’t worry, kid. You’ll like it,” Clint said, winking.

I nodded, filled up my spoon with the soup and tentatively tasted it. It really was pretty good, nothing like the soup my mother used to prepare, but it burst of flavor. I smiled.

“You like it?” Steve asked.

I nodded.

“My mother would have loved to hear that,” he said, laughing.

We spent the rest of dinner catching up and learning more about Clint and Natasha. Just by way they joked with each other and looked at each other every now and then with a mischievous smile, I knew they had a pretty exciting history together. Not in a romantic way, they seemed far too comfortable with each other, but in a way that they were willing to give their life to save the other’s. It was a deeper relationship than the one that Natasha and Steve had, even though I always thought that Steve and Natasha had been working together for most of their careers at S.H.I.E.L.D.

“Okay,” Clint said, rubbing his stomach, “I guess it’s time to talk business?”

Steve’s friendly smile disappeared as he became suddenly very serious. “How much do you know, or I guess, how much was Fury willing to tell you?”

Clint snickered. “Come on, Rogers, Fury is the spy of all spies. His secrets have secrets. He didn’t tell me a lot. He just said I have to relocate to Manhattan because of an asset that I have to protect. He gave me your two names but that was it. I didn’t realize I was going to be protecting a kid.”

“Fury never told you why she was under our protective custody?” Steve asked.

“He said you’d fill me in,” Clint said as he took a sip from the second bottle of wine that he and Natasha had opened, the one that Tony had given her. “Ugh, this wine’s really bitter.”

Natasha scoffed. “Wimp.”

Clint rolled his eyes before turning to me. “So what’d you do?”

I drew breath sharply. Pietro taught me at a young age to keep my secrets, especially the ones that could get me killed, a secret. Uneasy, I looked over at Steve and Natasha for help. Natasha nodded, “It’s alright. He’s one of us.”

“My brother joined Hydra for...reasons. Things got ugly and…we turned our back on Hydra. He turned over everything we knew about Hydra to S.H.I.E.L.D.,” I whispered. I didn’t mention to Clint _why_ things got ugly and how everything was _my fault._

“Your brother sold Hydra out? Ballsy,” Clint said, obviously impressed.

“Yes, well, he paid the price, didn’t he?” I whispered.

“Her brother contacted S.H.I.E.L.D. When we went to pick them up, Hydra found them, too,” Steve explained. “We couldn’t save Pietro, but even in his death, he gave us exceptionally important information about Hydra. It was their testimonies and information that helped us finally rack up solid charges against the Red Skull.

I shivered. The Red Skull. A terrifying figure who lurked in the shadows of his minions, who gave people orders but never did any of the dirty work, who kept himself out of the limelight so that his face wouldn’t be seen by cops. He was the most infamous man in all of Hydra, all of Sokovia as a matter of fact, and he was the one man who ordered the hit on Pietro and me.

“Laying down your life for the greater good? I admire that,” Clint said, smiling. “So our job is to protect her?”

Natasha nodded. “That’s one of our jobs. From what we’ve learned about the other witnesses that have tried to testify against Hydra, Hydra will try to capture Wanda alive, most likely torture her to find out what she’s told us, kill her in a rather brutal fashion and then try to cover up everything that she’s told us. They’ll relocate, kill off anyone whose identity has been revealed, including buyers, and probably bomb any location that Wanda and Pietro have been to.” I knew what Hydra was capable of but hearing Natasha talk about what _could_ happen to me so indifferently made my heart race just a little faster. “We need to make sure that that doesn’t happen,” Natasha continued. “Not only will we keep her safe, we’re also trying to _find_ the Red Skull.”

“Why Manhattan? Why not _Prague_ or some obscure place like that?” Clint asked.

“Because Fury thinks that there’s someone hiding in New York that has pertinent information on Hydra,” Natasha said.

“What kind of pertinent information?” Clint asked.

“This guy conned the crap out of a Hydra base here in New York,” Natasha said, sounding impressed. “Nothing serious. It’s just a little gambling place, one of Hydra’s ways of raising money to keep themselves in business. If we squeeze out a location from this guy, we can do a raid, maybe get some important guys and possibly find a location for the Hydra headquarters where the Red Skull is.”

“You really think the Red Skull is going to be stupid enough to have important information at a low-life gambling place?” Clint snorted. “Who is this con man anyway?”

“His name is Scott Lang,” Steve said.

“Alright. Let’s smoke him out,” Clint said.

“It’s not that easy,” Natasha said. “Scott’s good friends with a man named Hank Pym, one of Stark’s rival scientists. Pym gave Lang a suit that can literally shrink him to the size of an ant.”

Clint raised his eyebrows and snorted. “We’re going after _an ant-man_?! How the hell is that even possible?”

Natasha scoffed. “Don’t ask Stark. He tried to explain it with a bunch of science words that neither of us understood. When we’re not on Wanda-duty, we’re going to be chasing down leads trying to find this guy.”

“Wanda-duty?” Clint said.

“Our protection detail. We’ll be on a rotation system. At school, Sam will be there at all times. Stark and sometimes one other person will be monitoring her over comms. But when she isn’t at school one of us will be keeping tabs on her,” Steve said. “The code used for possible danger will be ‘it’s really hot.’”

“That’s original,” Clint said. “But either way, I’ve been itching to get the ol’ bow and arrow out.”

“You still use that thing?” Natasha said, chuckling.

Clint snorted. “Romanoff, you use electric dancing sticks.”

“ _Batons_ but touché,” Natasha replied. “And Steve goes by Captain America so let’s not leave him out.”

“Alright, alright, let’s try to focus right now,” Steve said. He pushed two photos in front of Clint. “These are the two men assigned to hunt Wanda down.”

As the pictures passed by me, I caught a glimpse of the two men who still haunt my dreams. One man had a thin face but sharp cheekbones, piercing eyes and a horrific snarl always curled on his lips, and the other was much larger, with a square jaw and a condescending smile.

Clint whistled. “Those are some big guys.”

“The guy with the nice snarl on his face is Rumlow or code name Crossbones. The other is one Thanos. They’re the Red Skull’s right and left hand men. You see them, you do whatever you have to in order to keep Wanda safe,” Steve warned. “In a couple of days, once Wanda's mouth heals, we're going to teach Wanda some simple training. You in?”

“Define simple training,” Clint said, still staring at the photo of Rumlow and Thanos.

Natasha chuckled. “You’ll enjoy it.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for everyone who has read this story! I appreciate all the support. I plan on updating every Saturday!
> 
> In regards to Scott Lang, I know that it may be a little unrealistic but I wanted to incorporate it into the story, anyway.


	3. Wanda Maximoff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha, Steve and Clint help prepare Wanda for her first day at Manhattan Academy.

Chapter Three: Wanda Maximoff

I landed flat on my back against the sparring mat, my neck and hair drenched with sweat, my muscles aching. Never once, not in my seventeen years, had I ever been subjected to such intense physical training as Natasha and Steve put through me. Of course, we waited for a few days as Steve had promised until my mouth was healed. Steve and Natasha consulted a few dentists who S.H.I.E.L.D. personally approved, and they all said that everything looked to be fully healed and, as long as I wasn’t in pain, we could train. The only restrictions were that I had to wear a mouthguard and that they couldn’t hit me in the face. Even with this restriction, they had no problem knocking me over at every opportunity they got.

Steve helped me up. “That time wasn’t too bad. You got me square me in the jaw.”

“That’s because Clint laughed at me and it distracted you,” I said.

“Taking advantage of the area is a good tip,” Natasha said.

“We’ve been at this for hours!” I exclaimed, throwing my hands up in frustration.

It was true. At 6:30 this morning, I was abruptly awoken by a blaring alarm that Steve had instructed J.A.R.V.I.S. to set without my knowledge, a feat for which J.A.R.V.I.S. apologized profusely. Steve and Natasha, already dressed and drinking a rather tasteless protein shake, were waiting for me. After shrugging my clothes on and nearly forcing the protein shake down my throat, I followed them into Clint’s apartment, decorated in a way that seemed appropriate for the person Clint Barton seemed to be: a dartboard and a pool table that looked overused, sleek furniture and an absence of color. His apartment was at the far end of the hallway and so the ladder by his bedroom window led to the alley between the empty building and the apartment. Outside, we made way to the empty building where Natasha put in a code into the padlock on the steel door. The room following the doorway was completely empty, and was no bigger than a medium sized walk in closet. Natasha ran her fingers across the wall until she felt _something_. She and Steve pointed out how the texture on this small section of the wall was slightly different than the rest. Taking my hand, Natasha forced my palm into the center of the strip of wall. The wall began to quiver, as though there was an earthquake, before slowly splitting open to reveal an elevator, which further required a passcode and a fingerprint that was pre-programmed into the security system.

When the elevator opened, after what seemed to be a very long elevator ride, I was in awe as Natasha, Steve and I stepped into what looked like a S.H.I.E.L.D.-designed training room and armory. On the left of the elevator was a long line of guns, ranging from semi-automatics to concealed weapons, hung and gleaming in the overhead lights, with shelves upon shelves of bullets and even grenades. Cabinets filled of dried fruits and meals, bottles of water and other necessities were organized perfectly; there were enough supplies that it could surely last us a few weeks if needed. There were two closed doors, one that was supposed to be a spare room and the other a small medical center in case of emergencies.  Beyond that, the entire floor was covered in training mats; there was a treadmill and weights; rows of punching dummies and a shooting range.

I understood why Natasha, Clint and Steve insisted that I learn the basics of hand-to-hand combat. I learned most of my training from Natasha, whose small frame and agility was most similar to my own. Every time I fell to the ground or I struggled to learn one of the new techniques, I had to remind myself that all of this was for my brother. If being sore every morning, as we did continue to train for hours and hours every day until the beginning of the school, meant that I could stay safer so that my brother didn’t sacrifice his life for nothing, I would put up with it.

“You’re a quick learner,” Natasha said a few days before school was going to start. Clint stepped off the mat after I successfully knocked the wind out of him after a rather – in my humble opinion – painful kidney punch. “And you’re getting stronger, too. That, or Clint is just getting more pathetic. You ready to go again?”

“And this time it’s Steve’s turn, right?” Clint asked, rubbing his ribs.

I sighed, stretched out my arms and got back onto the fighting mat. Steve followed suit. I put my hands in a defensive position. Steve lunged forward and tried to punch me in the stomach. I caught his hand but he kicked me in the hip; he and Natasha weren’t hitting to their full strength but it still hurt like a bitch. I stumbled backwards. Steve leg swiped me and I fell to the ground. I rolled over and just as I got up, I felt him wrap his arms around me from behind. I tried to break free but he was too strong.

“Remember what I said!” Natasha shouted, circling Steve and me. “Use your size as an advantage.”

I slammed my foot against his toe and I heard Steve grunt with pain. When he didn’t release me, I headbutted his chin, elbowed his stomach and slide out from his grip. I ducked between his legs and kicked him in the back. Steve toppled over.

Natasha began to clap. “See? You can stand a chance against big guys.”

“A big guy who isn’t really trying to kill me and a big guy without a gun,” I muttered, massaging my aching hip.

“Speaking of which,” Natasha said.

She turned around and rummaged through an ammunition box in the corner of the training room. When Natasha returned, she held out a gun for me. The sight of any gun, even after it became an essential part of Pietro’s everyday attire, terrified me and I jerked my hand away before she could give it to me. Disapprovingly, Natasha grabbed my arm and shoved the gun into my hand. It felt heavy and uncomfortable in my hands.

“This is for you,” Natasha said. “Consider it a school supply. You’ll keep this with you at all times. Hopefully, you won’t have to use it but you never know. Try not to get it confiscated at school. It’ll be a real mess trying to get you out of that.”

“How am I supposed to conceal a gun?” I asked.

“It’ll be on a holster in your hip. Wear jackets. That tends to help,” Natasha clarified.

“Do you know how to use a gun?” Steve asked.

“Pietro taught me how,” I muttered.

“Wouldn't hurt to go through some training with her,” Steve said.

“I've got this. Sharpshooting is my thing,” Clint said.

“With arrows, not _guns_ ,” Natasha corrected. “I’ll take this one. You two can observe if you want, though. J.A.R.V.I.S., can you get a target up for us?”

“Yes, Ms. Romanoff,” came the automated voice.

“J.A.R.V.I.S. is here?” I asked.

“Mr. Stark thought it would make life a little easier for you if I was available at your command as well,” J.A.R.V.I.S. responded politely.

We walked to the shooting range where J.A.R.V.I.S. slid a target shaped like a full-sized human toward us. Natasha took the safety off of her gun while Steve handed Clint and me some protective eyewear and earplugs. When I had them secured, I turned to watch Natasha as she pointed her gun toward the target. Without blinking, she shot the target with her right hand five times before switching hands and rapidly shooting another five rounds. When Natasha lowered her hand, ten freshly made bullet holes in the dead center of the bullseyes, practically one on top of the other. She turned around and gestured for me to take my turn.

“Do you know how to work the safety?” Clint asked.

I nodded, and took the gun Natasha gave me off of safety. I tried to remember what Pietro had told me about how to hold a gun: _Index finger extended against the frame of the gun. Grip the bottom securely._ I pointed at the target and just as I put my finger on the trigger –

“Stop!” Natasha said and I froze. “Relax your hand, Wanda. You hold that gun any tighter and you’ll squeeze the bullets out of it. And your hand is shaking so much you’ll miss the target, altogether. Be firm but don’t give it a death grip. Just take a deep breath and focus on the target.”

“And until you get comfortable with a gun, you hold that with two hands,” Clint said.

I nodded. I wrapped my left hand around the grip of the gun, bent my knees slightly and spread my legs shoulder width apart. Under Natasha’s careful eye, I loosened my grip, took a deep breath and pressed the trigger. The gun jolted in my hand, as I hadn’t realized how powerful of a gun Natasha had given me. I lowered my weapon and latched the safety back on before looking at the target. Now there were ten bullets in the center of the bullseye and one bullet hole in the shoulder of the target.

“Not bad,” Steve complimented as he took a closer look at the target.

“Not a lethal shot but enough to slow down an opponent,” Natasha said. “J.A.R.V.I.S can you get us a fresh target?”

“Right away ma’am,” J.A.R.V.I.S. responded.

This was how all the following days leading up to my junior year went: constant training for a fight that Steve and Natasha reassured me wouldn’t happen. I would practice hand-to-hand fighting with Steve and Clint. Every other fight I would land flat on my back, Clint snorting at my failures and Steve promising me that I was getting better. Then, I would practice shooting for a couple of hours with Natasha. It took three days before I managed to hit the target in the head. I earned an approving round of applause from Steve, Natasha and Clint. Occasionally, Sam would stop by to assist with training but most of the time got bored within an hour and left while Stark, who hadn’t showed his face since the first night I met him, would make a few comments over comms.

No matter how exhausting training was every day, I started to feel more comfortable not just with the gun but with the others. Clint, who I barely knew, had a darker kind of humor that would always make me laugh at a much needed time, such as when I shot the wall or tripped over my own two feet when I was trying to sidestep Steve’s punch. Steve assumed his role as father well, giving me advice when needed, drawing goofy cartoons of monkeys in ridiculous suits whenever I felt down and cooked breakfast for Natasha and me every morning. And Natasha, even though she was still secretive and mysterious, was harder on me than the others. She pushed me more and had a zero tolerance for bullshit but Natasha gave me the confidence that I needed.

But this routine of training almost all day ended quickly as August 24th rolled around, the first day of my junior year. I’ve never really cared about making friends and attending school; my attention had been else where ever since my parents died. How was I supposed to make friends and blend in? Worst yet, what if, _somehow, someone_ knew who I really was?

The night before my first day of school, Natasha picked out a couple of different outfits for me, and I appreciated her even more. She found an outfit that wouldn’t draw attention to me but still suited my style: black sandals, ripped black pants, a thin utility jacket and a gray tank top. She even went to the liberty of getting up early to do my hair and makeup; Natasha told me that getting pampered is a good way to relax.

“What do you think?” Natasha asked, gesturing toward the mirror in the bathroom.

I looked at myself in the reflection: the curled, brown hair, brownish red lipstick, smudged eyeliner and mascara were all nicely done. I loved the way that it made me look but I still had my hesitations. “Are you sure it isn’t too much?” I asked.

“Stark surveyed the high school,” Natasha said. “You’re conservative compared to other girls. How do you feel about it, though? If you don’t like I can take it all off and do it again.”

“No – no, I like it. It’s just–,” I started.

“Not you?” Natasha finished.

“I’m not me, though. I’m Wanda Maximoff,” I said, trying to sound confident. 

Natasha smiled in agreement. “It’s good to try something new. Just remember, high school is not a big deal, Wanda. If you need _anything_ , Stark and I are going to be on comms today. Sam will be there also. Just try not to get into any trouble,” Natasha said. She handed me my backpack. “Sam is waiting downstairs for you.”

“Come on,” Steve said. He walked up from behind us. “I’ll walk you to the car.”

Outside, Sam was waiting with his phone out in the front seat of a gleaming black Range Rover.

“New car?” I asked Steve.

“Driving around a taxi in Manhattan isn’t the greatest idea,” Steve said. “Before you go, though, I have a present for you.” Steve took my wrist and strapped on a silver, expensive-looking watch with the brand name _Michael Kors_ etched in the center. “GPS Tracker,” Steve whispered. He then brushed a strand of hair out of my face and as he did he pushed something small into my ear. “Comms.”

“Houston, Houston can you hear me?” someone said into my ear.

“Who was that?” I asked Steve.

Steve sighed. “Stark. As helpful as he’s being, he’s probably going to get on your nerves at one point.”

“That hurt my feelings, Cap,” Stark said.

Sam rolled down the window. “Will you guys hurry up? I don’t want to be late on my first day of high school!” Sam reached over and popped the door open for me. “How you doing, Maximoff? How excited are you for high school?”

“Very,” I muttered.

Sam laughed and put the car in drive. After much cursing under his breath, yelling and honking, Sam pulled into the parking lot of Manhattan Academy. It was just as I imagined a classic school in America to look: clean cut hedges, a large brick building with a statue of the school’s founder, and a paved staircase overpopulated with excited teens running around and screaming as they greeted their friends. Sam dropped me off before turning the corner to park the car. I pulled the doors to the entrance open slowly. Cool air from the overly air-conditioned lobby pressed against my face as I walked inside On either side of me, students and teachers were bustling in and out of offices.

Sam told me to go to the counseling offices where I could get my schedule printed out. Tentatively, I walked into the office on the left where patches of dark red and the Manhattan Academy slogan were practically plastered on everything. The lady sitting at the desk in the front was typing vigorously on her computer and speaking rather severely into her headset. I approached her slowly and, when I stopped in front of her desk, she stopped what she was doing and turned to look at me.

“I’m new. I just – I need my schedule, please,” I said.

The lady nodded and smiled. “Name?” She asked.

“Uh, Wanda Maximoff,” I said.

She typed something into the computer quickly, double clicked with her mouse several times and then the printer behind her started to buzz and whir. The receptionist took the paper and put it in front of me. She started to circling parts of the paper. “This is your student ID. You’d want to memorize that. Locker number. Locker combo. We have Red Day and White Day, our school colors. One day you’ll have four classes and then the next you’ll have another four–”

“Dani, did you get the email about the new formatting for the attendance records?” A female voice said urgently. A tall woman, probably thirty years old, was quickly making her way to the desk where I was standing. She had a strong face with defined features and angular cheekbones. Her thin lips were pressed into a line. Dressed in a tight gray pencil skirt and a form-fitting black shirt, this woman’s appearance suggested that she was in a position of power and a person whose every action had a specific purpose.

“I did,” the receptionist, who I assumed was named Dani, replied.

The woman turned to me. “Who are you?”

“Um, I’m Wanda Maximoff. I’m new here,” I said.

The woman smiled. “Maria Hill. I’m the principal here,” she said. She outstretched her hand and I took it. “It’s nice to meet you Wanda.”

“Nice to meet you, too,” I said. “Thank you,” I added to the receptionist.

I took my schedule. I gave Principal Hill and the receptionist another smile before turning on my heels and exiting the office rather briskly. Though I was sure this was how every new student felt, it seemed like every person was watching me at a time where I wanted to do nothing else but blend in. Keeping my eyes trained on the ground, I hurriedly guessed my way to my locker. Manhattan Academy continued to live up to my American high school expectations: long halls, colored posters and banners promoting the next football game or important upcoming events, and students leaning against their lockers, speaking quietly with each other.

 _Just find your locker_ , I told myself. But how? This school was massive and no one told me where I was supposed to –

 _CRASH!_ Something hard and something moving fast smacked me right in the shoulder. I lost my balance and slammed onto the ground, my leather tote bag that Natasha promised would be ‘practical’ spilling open. Books and pencils rolled away. I immediately thought of the worst and reached for my gun, which was properly stowed in the holster hidden by my jacket.

“HOLY SHIT! My god, I am so sorry!” Came a voice, a boy no doubt.

I looked up and felt my muscles relax a little bit. It wasn’t Thanos or Rumlow, large and terrifying. It was just a teenage boy, one that looked friendly and carefree, standing straight and stout but wasn’t so tall that it was intimidating, like Steve. He had thin cheekbones and a prominent chin, and his hair was gelled down, making his face look even thinner. This boy had laugh lines around his brown, warm eyes. But the most disarming and charming part of his appearance was his smile. His lips curved upwards into a crooked, goofy and toothy smile, as if he didn’t have a problem in the world. He wore slacks and a blue sweater over a checkered shirt.

“Geez, I thought I was getting better at this,” the boy laughed nervously, gesturing toward a skateboard.

He knelt down beside me and helped collect all the school supplies that had dispersed over the hallway floor. Realizing he wasn’t a threat, I removed my hand from the grip of my gun and began to shove all the notebooks back into my bag. The boy helped me up, a guilty smile plastered on his face. He brushed his hand through his hair a few times and then laughed awkwardly.

“Sorry. I’m really sorry. My friend, Ned – not that you would know him or, uh, maybe you do – he keeps telling me that I’m probably going to kill someone with this.” He rambled so quickly that I could hardly understand him. “I – I’m Peter Parker, by the way.” He held out his hand and I shook it tentatively. “A – are you gonna tell me your name?”

“Um, Wanda – Wanda Maximoff?”

“Maximoff? That’s a cool name. European, right?” Peter asked.

“Um yeah b-but I’m from Oregon. I just moved here,” I stammered.

Peter nodded and for one terrible second, I thought I had blown my cover, but nonetheless, he smiled and said, “Cool! Do you need any help getting to your locker? Or first class? Here, let me see your schedule.”

“Um, sure,” I said, pulling out the crumpled up piece of paper that I shoved into the outside pocket of my bag.

Peter scanned it quickly before handing it. “You’re only a few lockers down from mine!” He started speed walking down the hall and I rushed after him. “I’ll show you! And we have AP Biology first period together with Dr. Banner. He’s brilliant. And it looks like you’re also in yearbook with me. And we have the same lunch!” Peter said, grinning. We rounded the corner where this hallway had lockers on one side and a line of windows with benches in front on the other. “Here’s your locker.”

“Thanks,” I muttered. I looked at my schedule and starting pulling out the textbooks that I would need for the first part of the day. Behind me, Peter was practically breathing down my neck. “Um, is everything okay?”

“What? Oh right!” Peter exclaimed, taking a few steps away from me. “Personal space! My friends say I have a problem! Speaking of which, this is Michelle and Ned!”

Peter pointed toward two emerging figures laughing as they walked up to Peter and me. One African-American girl with glasses and curly hair stared at me with not necessarily harsh but more of just intense eyes that looked like they were analyzing every square inch of me. The other, Ned, was a slightly larger boy with unruly black hair and a goofy smile. “Michelle, Ned, this is Wanda Maximoff.”

Ned’s eyes lit up. He grabbed my hand and started shaking it fervently, “Wanda Maximoff? That’s the coolest name I’ve ever heard.” I smiled, and waited for him to let go of my hand as he continued to shake it.

“Ned, you can let go of her now,” Michelle said. “Try not to scare her away.”

“I’m not scaring anyone,” Ned exclaimed. “You’re the one to talk! Try smiling once!”

Michelle rolled his eyes.

“Okay,” Peter said, quickly. “Come on. We can walk to class together. I’ll introduce you to Dr. Banner.” Peter grabbed my shoulder and pulled me away from Ned and Michelle. “Sorry about them. Trust me, they’re great people but they’re a little out there.”

“They seem very nice,” I reassured him, and I meant it. Being greeted with a smile was almost novel to me.

Peter grinned. “Good. Well, here’s AP Bio.”

Inside, the classroom smelled faintly of bleach. Metal tables with two stools behind them lined the front half of the class while the back half had circular tables set up for labs. In the corner of the classroom beside the sinks was a grimy looking fish tank. In the front were a chalkboard and a desk where Dr. Banner, a tall man with curly brown hair dressed in lab coat, was writing something on the board.

“Dr. Banner?” Peter said.

“Yes?” The man said, spinning around so fast he nearly knocked over a stack of papers on his desk. “Ah Peter! So great to see you again! How was your summer?”

“It was great!” Peter exclaimed.

“Did you finish working on that science project you were telling me about?” Banner asked.

“Yeah but, um, I actually wanted to introduce you to Wanda Maximoff. She’s new this year,” Peter said, gesturing towards me.

“Oh,” Banner said, straightening his glasses as if to get a better look at me. “Welcome to Manhattan Academy.”

“Um, thanks,” I muttered.

“I assume you’re interested in biology?” Banner asked.

I didn’t know what to say. Steve and Natasha, who had only asked me what classes I was interested in once, crafted my schedule for me. While Pietro had forced me to attend school all the way up until we went on the run from Hydra, paying attention in class was never important to me. Thinking that every day I was going to go home to a dead brother was more of a concern.

“Wanda?” Peter asked, nudging my arm.

“Oh sorry. Yeah, I took bio back in Oregon and I really enjoyed it but it was always a little challenging for me,” I said, uneasily.

“Well, no matter, if you ever need any help, my door is always open,” Banner promised.

“And mine!” Peter exclaimed.

Banner chuckled. “And Peter’s, of course. He is one of my best students. And I’m sure he’ll be more than happy to show you to your seat. Class is about to start.”

Peter nodded and led me to a desk near the window. He dropped his bag in the stool next to me. “You know, I wasn’t kidding about before. If you need any help, I’m always there. No charge or anything,” Peter said, yanking his notebook out of his bag so fast that he tore out a couple of books as well.

I heard someone laugh. “Nice going, Parker!” A large boy with a sharp jaw line, blue eyes and sandy eyes snorted.

“Hey, fuck off Thompson!” Peter yelled back.

“Who was that?” I asked.

“Flash Thompson,” Peter muttered. “He’s kind of an asshole. And by that, I mean, he’s a huge asshole.”

“What’s his problem?”

Peter chuckled, “Me and his ex kind of had a thing…”

“Yes, Wanda,” Stark said, his voice nearly making me jump, “This is what people get upset about in high school.”

For the next few minutes, students were yelling and throwing paper airplanes across the classroom until Dr. Banner cleared his throat, drawing all attention to him in the front of the class. “Good morning class. Welcome to your first day of AP Biology. I hope you are all as excited as I am for this year. But before we get into our lesson, I think it’d be nice to get to know your classmates.  I want everyone to say your name, including any nicknames you’d rather go by, and one fun fact about yourself.”

I inhaled sharply. A fun fact about myself – about Wanda Maximoff, a character who I made up in a few hours on a flight to the United States. Everyone else seemed unhappy to be doing an icebreaker on the first day of class but they clearly had no difficulty sharing random facts about themselves, some receiving laughter and a couple of chuckles. Dr. Banner was going alphabetically and as he drew closer and closer to my name, my heart started to race.

“Ms. – Ms. Maximoff? Did I say that correctly?” Banner said.

“Yeah,” I muttered, breathlessly. My cheeks flushed pink and I felt uncomfortably hot.  

“You’ve been to forty states in the US,” came a gentle voice. Natasha – I had completely forgotten that she was on comms today as well. “I made a scrapbook of it.”

“Um, I’ve been to forty states in the United States,” I repeated.

Banner raised his eyebrows. “Wow. You’re parents must love to travel. What’s your favorite state?”

“Louisiana,” I said, without thinking.

“Have you ever even been to Louisiana?” Stark scoffed.

“ _Stark_ ,” Natasha said. Her voice was steady but there was something intimidating about it.

“What do you like so much about Louisiana?” Banner asked.

“Um, the music?” I said, unsure of myself.

Stark snorted so loudly I thought that Peter would have been able to hear it. “You’re supposed to give him an answer, not a question. Romanoff, you’ve got to teach this kid how to lie.” I had to listen to Natasha and Stark go back and forth about whether I was a believable teenager for the rest of the time that Banner was going through the list of students in the class. Natasha eventually shut Stark up when Banner started to lecture.

Just as I expected, I felt like Banner was speaking in a foreign language. In fact, all the classes I attended made no sense. AP US Government confused me to no end (as American government was nothing like the Sokovian government). Statistics was nothing short of torture. I attended just three classes and I already felt overwhelmed, stupid and ready to quit. I hoped desperately that yearbook would be as straightforward as it sounds. At the start of yearbook, Peter, Michelle, Ned and I filed into a hot, crowded computer lab on the second floor.

“Hey!” Peter said, excitedly. “I pulled some strings and got the teacher to agree to let us work on the same stuff! Being one of the editors this year, I have that kind of power! I take the pictures, you write the articles – if that’s okay. I mean, you can do whatever you want.”

“At least let her speak Peter,” Michelle said.

Peter rolled his eyes. “Does that sound good to you?”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

“Great! All four of us are covering the football game this Friday!” Peter said.

“Looking forward to it!” I said, smiling.

Stark laughed, “Natasha, how much do you want to bet that she’s _actually_ excited about a football game?”

I ignored Stark. Expecting for yearbook to be the easiest class of the day, I was quickly put into place as all we did that class period was ‘team-bonding’, which meant pretend speed dating for two minutes where we talked about ourselves with people we didn’t know. Natasha and Stark were practically spoonfeeding me what to say. I was exhausted when I got back to the apartment after school where I found Natasha, Steve and Clint whispering over the kitchen table, papers strewn across the table and three computers open. They pulled away from each other as I walked inside. I tossed my bag onto the kitchen table and grabbed an apple from fruit bowl.

“I thought we’re past keeping secrets from each other. At least about this,” I added.

Natasha sighed and gestured toward the chair at the head of the kitchen table. I sat down. “Really, it’s nothing,” she said. “We’re just talking about how we’re not having that great of a time finding Scott Lang. We’ve set up a few traps but he’s too smart.”

“By too smart we mean he just runs away like an ant,” Clint said. “Perhaps it’s time we start looking at some other leads. You never know: we may have already squished him.”

Natasha didn’t respond to Clint’s comment and pressed on. “Hank Pym is a personal friend of Scott Lang’s and helps Scott stay hidden from people, like the police, who are looking for him. Stark is setting up a meeting with Hank Pym. Hopefully, he’ll give us something helpful.”

“Doubt it,” echoed Stark’s voice from seemingly non-existent speakers.

Clint jumped at the sound of Stark’s voice at which Natasha laughed.

“How was your first day of school?” Steve asked, ignoring the quiet banter between Clint and Natasha.

“Who’s Peter?!” Stark yelled.

“Just some guy from school,” I said.

“He was giving you googly eyes all day!” Stark shouted. “Believe me, I was watching!”

“How do you even have cameras in the school?” I asked.

Stark laughed. “The same way I created J.A.R.V.I.S. With magic.”

“But in all seriousness, was your first day alright?” Steve asked.

I nodded. “It was good. A little difficult but I’ll manage. I’m gonna go to my room and do my homework.”

Except for the quiet dinner we had that night, I spent the rest of the night locked away in my room, either unpacking or trying to understand the confusing homework assignments with which I was bombarded. When 9:00 rolled around, I shoved my statistics book to the side, looked around at my bedroom, deciding whether I should go to bed or finish unpacking. The sight of boxes everywhere was ultimately more overwhelming than the desire to go to bed. It was 11:30 when I finally decided to go to bed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I was really excited to finally introduce Peter and also add a little bit of Dr. Banner and Maria Hill into the story. 
> 
> Based on Civil War and the trailer for Spiderman: Homecoming, this is how I imagined Michelle, Ned and Peter to act. I hope you guys liked it!


	4. Wanda Maximoff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wanda Maximoff attends her first football game with Peter, Michelle and Ned.

Chapter Four: Wanda Maximoff

The rest of the week was as difficult as the first day. Classes were nothing short of exhausting this week with awkward icebreakers, Stark making fun of me at every possible opportunity and lessons that I firmly believed I would never understand. Peter, Michelle and Ned, though they knew nothing about the real me, managed to make things easier - a lot easier. Peter, who had more energy than a five year old on caffeine _and_ Red Bull, was sometimes difficult to keep up with but his happiness was contagious. More often than not I found myself genuinely laughing.

“I can go to the football game tonight, right?” I asked Steve that Friday morning; he was sitting at the kitchen counter, sipping a cup of coffee and looking at papers spread out with designs for his upcoming newspaper cartoon.

“Of course,” Steve said, “It’s all that Peter boy has been talking about. Sam will be there tonight. Makes the most sense given his cover.” I nodded in agreement.

I said my goodbyes to Steve and Natasha before meeting Sam outside. We quickly settled into our morning routine: blaring music loudly but also sitting there in awkward silence  before entering the school at separate times for the sake of trying to prevent raising questions. From there, I kept my head down to prevent drawing attention to myself and then rushed to my locker. When I reached my locker, I felt a surge of disappointment when I saw that no one was there. Swallowing my emotions, I began to put my combination in.

Then, I heard someone shout, “Maximoff!” I jumped and turned around just in time for Peter to come to a skidding halt on his skateboard. “Still on for the football game, tonight?”

“Yeah,” I nodded.

Peter’s eyes lit up. “Good! And just to let you know, Michelle, Ned and I are grabbing a burger before the game so you can come if you want.”

“What do you think, Barton?” Came Stark’s voice.

“I think she needs to go out, get out of the apartment for a little while,” Barton snickered over comms. “Just make sure you get the location so we can stake it out beforehand.”

I smiled. “Yeah, that’d be fun.

“It’d be nice for Maximoff to get laid,” Barton added before he and Stark burst into a fit of laughter.

For the rest of the day, I felt considerably more light-hearted, even when I wanted to bang my head against a wall during statistics. For what felt like the first time in a very long time, I was doing something that (hopefully) didn’t require a near death experience. And as the day went on, I started to remember more and more people's names and I started to feel like I belonged here more and more.

At lunch, I followed Peter, Michelle and Ned to the table where we always sat. “I was in the hallway this morning,” Michelle started, her voice full of frustration, “and my breath smelled like coffee. All I wanted to do was chew some gum but my AP English teacher hammered on my ass and gave me detention. Just because she doesn’t allow chewing gum in her classroom doesn’t mean we aren’t allowed to chew gum in the hallway. Why does she think that her rules apply everywhere?”

“Sounds the federal government and the Supremacy Clause,” Ned said, laughing. “Except the federal government is in the right and your teacher isn’t.”

“What’s the Supremacy Clause?” I asked as I unscrewed the cap on my water bottle. Based off of the wide eyes and looks of disbelief on Peter, Michelle and Ned’s face, I knew that I had said something wrong.

“Oh god,” Stark scoffed.

“Seriously?” Michelle asked.

“Yeah, seriously?” Stark added.

My face flushed pink. “I – I – no, of course I’m kidding,” I said, forcing a laughter.

Michelle, Ned and Peter were silent for a long moment before Peter started to chuckle. “Must be an Oregon sense of humor,” he said.

“Yeah. Guess it doesn’t fly in New York,” I agreed, quickly.

Stark groaned. “You just said _fly_!”

I was extra careful with what I said for the rest of the day since I could tell that Michelle and Ned were both analyzing everything I said with skeptical looks. Peter, thankfully, didn’t say anything and didn’t seem to think much of it. Peter spent all of yearbook talking animatedly about nearly everything: how hyped people get about football games here, biology, colleges he dreamed of going to, basketball teams he watched.

“God, does this kid ever _stop_ talking?” Clint groaned. “Serious question: when was the last time he breathed?”

“And to think he still likes the Knicks!” Stark exclaimed. “Whatta schmuck!”

* * *

That night, while Natasha was making dinner for me, Stark and Clint insisted on giving me a full run down about (quote from Stark) “the greatest American pastime since baseball.” They briefed me on what a quarterback was, how downs worked, what flags on the plays were and gushed about Tom Brady, Odell Beckham Jr. and other people who’s names I would never be able to remember. “I’m not saying you need to know _everything_ about football,” Stark said for the thousandth time; Natasha was tucking a gun in the holster hidden by my jacket, “but you need to make sure you don’t pull another Supremacy Clause.”

“She’ll be fine, Stark,” Natasha said. “If you’re on comms, you’ll help her out.”

“How are you getting to the game?” Clint asked.

“I think we’re walking,” I said. “And I think we’re walking to the restaurant, too.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got her,” Clint reassured.

I nodded. I heard the sound of a buzz and Natasha hurriedly rushed to an open computer on the counter to check the surveillance cameras.

“It’s her friends,” Natasha said. “You have everything you need?”

“Yeah, I have money,” I said as I grabbed my purse.

Stark chuckled. “By ‘everything you need’, she means do you have your gun and enough ammo to shoot twenty people dead?”

I rolled my eyes. “Yes. Can I go now?”

“Yes. Try to have fun tonight!” Natasha shouted as I rushed out the door.

As I closed the door to my apartment and followed Michelle, Ned and Peter to the restaurant, my lack of confidence became even worse. It was like I had forgotten every scrap of information on American customs that Stark and Clint had just shoved down my throat. I wasn’t worried about blowing my cover; I honestly doubted that they would think I’m in witness protection running from Hydra. It was a matter of fitting in and trying not to a botch a friendship that was hard enough for me to keep up with.

The little diner wasn't too far from my apartment. It had blue booths and bright white walls; the menu glowed over the ordering counter, where the long line wrapped around the front of the restaurant. It was packed with students and adults from both Manhattan Academy and also from the opposing team, shouting to be heard over the chaos. Staying close to Peter, we went to the front to order. Michelle passed out menus to the three of us before going to Ned’s side after Peter drifted to mine.

“Are you excited for tonight?” Peter asked. He was twirling his yearbook pass in his hand and had a camera slung around his neck.

“Yeah,” I said.

“Try to sound more enthusiastic,” Stark said. “You’re going to a football game, not getting five shots.”

Peter, unfazed by the tone in my voice, smiled. “Here’s your pass,” he said, untangling a laminated piece of paper labeled _yearbook_ that was hung by a string. He handed it to me.

I put it around my neck. “This gets us into the game for free?”

“Yeah. Free pass into anything,” he said.

While Peter handed Michelle and Ned their passes, I perused through the menu. This place was the classic American fast food joint: every type of burger with every type of cheese imaginable, chicken nuggets, overpriced salads with fatty dressing and a multitude of ice cream flavors for milkshakes; this is the exact sort of food that S.H.I.E.L.D. agents swore off.

Suddenly, a bright light blinded me. I winced and looked over at Peter. He was holding up his camera. “Just testing out some new features,” Peter said, casually.

I didn’t think much of it and went back to the menu. Following Stark’s advice, I went with a classic cheeseburger. We sat in the corner of the restaurant where Ned and Peter were laughing over stupid puns that they found on the internet. When it was 6:00, we left to walk to the game. 

Peter’s claim that football at Manhattan Academy was as huge as a college football game was fairly accurate. From a block away, I could see strobe lights flashing and music from the band thumping in the background. There wasn’t a parking spot in sight as nearly every inch of space on the curb and in the parking lot had been used; even a few cars were double-parked, pulling onto the well-kept lawns and then arguing about whether it was a good idea to park there. Inside the football stadium, it was just as chaotic as I remembered any professional sporting event to be like: the student section was massive, jumping up and down in unison, like one huge maroon colored ball, and screaming cheers at the top of their lungs. Every color of glow sticks illuminated the student section. Kids were running around in face paint, their parents scrambling to follow them.

“What do we do now?” I asked once inside the stadium.

“Yearbook stuff,” Ned said.

Michelle rolled her eyes, “You’re insufferable.”

“We split up,” Peter said. “Ned and Michelle will cover the players and focus more on the actual game. You and I are covering the student section and the cheer team – unless you want to do something else,” Peter said.

“No, that sounds good,” I said.

Michelle and Ned parted ways and I followed Peter to the student section. We stood at the far edge of the bleachers, beside the large bell that a cheerleader would ring every time we scored a touchdown. I watched Peter zoom in and out with his camera, kneel on the ground and sometimes hold the camera over his head, snapping pictures. As the writer, I was supposed to observe and write down anything that stood out or phrases that came to mind that I could use to write the article. We did this for the entirety of the first half, which took _much_ longer than twenty-four minutes, until we took a break since Michelle and Ned were covering half time. We bought an apple cider from the concessions stands before leaning against the bleachers to talk.

“Did you go to football games in Oregon?” Peter asked.

I shrugged. “I went to a couple.”

“Was your team any good?”

“They were alright,” I said. I looked over at Peter, who continued to stare me with curiosity. Sighing, I decided to add more to the story. “There was one game. We were ahead by three or four points. The other team was on their first down with maybe ten yards to go before the end zone. The quarterback threw it and some guy, some _first year player_ intercepted the ball in the end zone in the last five seconds. It was crazy. He won the game for us.”

“That’s awesome!” Peter said, eyes bright. Very quickly, his eyebrows started to furrow and he said, “You know, that sounds a lot like the Super Bowl between the Patriots and the Seahawks when Malcolm Butler made that game saving interception. Sounds exactly like it…”

The color drained from my face. “Oh shit, you’re right.”

Stark groaned. “You’re hopeless.”

“Weird coincidence, I guess,” I said. I looked away for something to change the subject. “There’s a lot of people here.”

“No kidding. Manhattan Academy is a little bit bigger than–,” Peter started.

A small toy football nailed Peter in the shoulder and he jumped. A little girl dressed in a huge pink coat, even though it wasn’t that cold outside, ran up to Peter with a goofy smile. She was missing one of her front teeth. Her father came running over to Peter.

“I’m so sorry. She was just messing around,” the father said, his brow furrowed.

Peter laughed. “It’s no big deal.” Peter handed the football to the little girl, “Here you go sweetheart.”

She squealed.

With just one look at her face, I suddenly realized that I wasn’t in New York anymore.

* * *

I was standing on cobblestone, facing the back of bleachers that lead into a massive fútbol stadium decked out with TVs and advertisements, full of red-faced Sokovian citizens. Around me, people were bustling about the stadium, running toward the bathroom or concession stands, screaming to be heard over the chaos. Pietro, tall and stout with his curly blonde hair, angular face and strong veneer, was standing beside me. He was exactly like I remembered him: confident, walked with a purpose. Peter wasn’t the one handing a ball back to a little girl: it was Pietro picking up a small bracelet that a little girl had been twirling in her fingers and dropped on accident. He gave her a wide, crooked smile, one that I loved and missed dearly.

It was July 15, 2013. I had turned fifteen a week ago and Pietro had surprised me with tickets to watch the Sokovian professional soccer game. Even when Sokovia was constantly on the brink of a civil war, the whole country seemed to unite over a fútbol game. I had wanted to go to a game all my life but we could never afford it or Pietro was always _working_ when there was a game. But when he surprised me, I nearly cried from excitement; I never once stopped to think _how_ he could afford these tickets. The moment I let myself think about how he got the tickets, though, I didn't have to think for long.

Hydra only gave us gifts when it needed Pietro to complete a job.

I ignored that nagging feeling that Pietro was ready to abandon me for a job at any moment, and I tried to enjoy the first half of the game. I excitedly yelled when we scored and booed when I thought that the referees were making bad calls; Pietro enjoyed the game just as much as I did. I thought everything was going great until the first half ended and we left to go buy food. “Get to your seat. I’ll meet you there,” Pietro commanded after he bought me a drink. Our Sokovian accents were thick; there was no need to speak any other way, no reason to hide who we were.

“Why aren’t you coming?” I asked.

“Because I’m going to go buy you something for your birthday,” Pietro said, smiling. “I don’t want to spoil the surprise.”

I scoffed. “I’m your sister. I know when you’re lying!”

Pietro stopped in his tracks and turned around, “I didn’t bring you here so you could get in my way.”

“You brought me here as a cover.”

“No, I brought you here so you and I could enjoy our first game together as your birthday present. Now go to the seats. I’m not going to ask again!” Pietro snapped.

He turned on his heels and briskly started off. Reluctantly, I turned my back to Pietro and started walking toward the entrance to the stadium but, when I was sure that I was out of Pietro’s sight, I followed him. I stayed close to strangers, kept my head down and made a beeline toward the exit. Pietro left the stadium and was walking back to the parking lot. When he stopped, I nearly leapt behind a trashcan to avoid him seeing me. Pietro looked around for a couple moments. His eyes rested on the trashcan; I thought he could see right through it but there was the sound of footsteps. Pietro spun around. The buyer, a large man dressed in a military uniform, walked toward Pietro, two men on his flank, both carrying a duffel bag.

The man stopped in front of Pietro, looking my brother up and down, as though surprised that someone no older than a teenager was carrying out this transaction. _“Do you have what you promised?”_ The man said in Russian, a language that Hydra required both myself and Pietro to learn.

Pietro nodded. He showed the man something in his bag. “ _Like what you see?"_  Pietro closed the bag. “ _Where’s the money?”_

The man nodded toward one of his bodyguards and they dropped the duffel bags on the ground. Pietro took a look inside. The expression of disdain and slight terror was a clear sign that something wasn’t right. Pietro stood up. “ _What is this? You were supposed to pay us double this! That was the deal!”_

The buyer smirked. “ _I changed my mind. There are a lot cheaper sellers than Hydra! I don’t really need to make this transaction through you.”_

“ _You will not get this if you don’t fork up the money!”_ Pietro snapped.

The buyer started to laugh. He snapped his fingers and both bodyguards started to advance onto Pietro. The only outcome that I could think of was my brother leaving this place in a bodybag – I couldn’t watch my brother die in front of me. I gasped and stumbled out from beyond the trashcan. The lid clattered off. The buyer and the bodyguards turned to where I was standing. The buyer yelled something at Pietro, spun around and ran away. Pietro nearly dropped to his knees as he collected his bag. He ran to my side.

“What the hell were you thinking?!” Pietro screamed. He wasn’t angry, though. He looked scared.

“I – I was just–,” I started.

He grabbed my arm and pulled me up. “I told you to go to your seat! You never listen to me!”

“Pietro, they were going to kill you!” I shouted, tears welling up in my eyes.

“You think this is the first time that something like this wasn’t going the way it was planned? Or that someone had pulled a gun out on me?! I know how to handle these situations!”

“I – I didn’t know,” I stammered.

“It’s time you grow up and start learning. Get back to the car. We’re going home!” Pietro shouted. “Wanda! Wanda!”

He kept yelling… But he wasn’t yelling my real name. He was yelling a cover name. Very quickly, Pietro’s voice changed. The accent was gone and there I was back in the football stadium. The loud music from the band filled my ears, the hum of cheers from the student section came back. Peter was standing in front of me, staring at me with eyebrows raised. I let out a sharp gasp and dropped my apple cider. 

Peter stepped back. “Wanda? Wanda?!”

“ _What_?” I said, my Sokovian accent peaking through. “What?” I repeated in an American tongue.

“Do you have an accent?” Peter said, picking up the spilt apple cider and handing the cup back to me.

“I – what accent?” I asked.

“Never mind,” Peter said. “Are you alright? You looked like you just watched someone die.”

“I, um, I think I just have a headache,” I said, breathlessly.

“Do you wanna go home? Don’t worry about covering the second half. Michelle and I will take care of it,” Peter said.

I nodded. “Yeah, I think – I think I’m going to go home,” I started. I took a tentative step and my legs almost gave out. I held onto the railing for support and Peter’s curious eyes were quickly filled with concern. 

“Do you want me to walk you home?” Peter asked.

“Sam will meet you out front,” Stark said before I had the chance to answer. “I already called Natasha. She’s letting Steve know right now.”

I shook my head. “No, I’m alright. I’ll see you on Monday.”

Peter nodded. “Yeah, see you.”

I gave Peter a half-hearted smile and started off toward the exit. My legs were weak, my heart was racing. It was so vivid: Pietro’s voice, his eyes, what happened, it was like it was two years ago and I was reliving one of the worst days of my life over and over again. Stark kept telling me to take deep breathes, to remind myself of where I was and what I was doing but he wasn’t doctor. He wasn’t even sure if that’s what I should be doing. He kept reassuring me that I was safe the entire way that I was walking to Sam, who was waiting at the exit. Sam gave me a small smile, wrapped his arm around my shoulder and directed me toward the car. We drove in silence. When we got to the apartment, Clint and Natasha were already waiting. They offered to make me something to eat, draw a warm bath, find a movie that I might want to watch but I ignored them and I walked straight to my bedroom. I crawled into bed. I wasn’t tired, and it was only 8:30 but I needed to sleep. I needed this day to be over.

I closed my eyes and hoped for a dreamless sleep but I didn’t get what I wanted.

* * *

Pietro pulled the car into our driveway. Our house was small: two bedrooms, a bathroom, a kitchen and a small living room but it was enough for us. Our house lacked color, everything was either brown, white or a faded shade of dark green. The front door creaked when we opened it, sometimes the hot water didn’t always work and other times the water was brown instead of clear. But it was better than being homeless like Pietro and I were when we were younger.

Pietro slammed the door shut and I followed him inside. We stopped in the living room, which was nothing more than a couple couches, a little table and a small, old-fashioned television set.

“Pietro, I’m sorry,” I said.

He shook his head. “I know you are. I know you didn’t mean it. I just wished you understood the consequences of your actions.”

“Consequences? What kind of consequences?” I said.

Pietro rested his hand on my shoulder and stared into my eyes. “Whatever happens I will do everything my power to make sure that your safe.”

My breathing hitched. We had survived a lot together: when I was six and he was twelve, we want on a picnic with our parents. There was a skirmish – what felt like the third military coup that year. Our parents got caught in the crossfire. We watched them die, but we got through it together. We got through the days without food, the nights in the shivering winter with nothing more than measly coat and a blanket. Pietro stood strong, defended me when men walked past me with a disgusting smirk on their faces. He was an anchor for me. He kept me hopeful and was strong when I was not. Seeing him with this despaired and terrified look on his face made it hurt even more than I had imagined. Pietro was losing his strength because of me.

“What are we going to do?” I asked.

“I hope the answer isn’t ignore the problem,” came a bone-chilling, cold-hearted voice.

A figure emerged from the shadows of our kitchen. It was Baron Wolfgang von Strucker. He was dressed in a green military suit, black boots and an eyeglass. He had a nasty snarl on his face and scar from when a Hydra agent tried to break free. Strucker had his arms behind his back and was walking toward Pietro and me slowly.

When our parents died and when we lost everything, Pietro tried to steal some fruit from a grocery store but he was caught. Normally, stealing is a highly punishable crime but before anything could happen to him, Strucker found us. He gave us a place to stay, clean water to drink, a place to bathe, and food, lots of homemade food, all luxuries that we hadn’t been given in what felt like years. When Strucker brought up Hydra, I was too young to understand, but so was Pietro. He was only sixteen when they recruited him. He had to take the weight of the world on his shoulders, but Strucker was always there to help him when he fell.

I thought Strucker was on our side, but I gradually learned, especially this day, that I was wrong.

“Strucker _,"_ Pietro snarled.

Strucker clicked his tongue. “ _Tsk, tsk_. I’ve been your handler for so long I thought you’d be nicer to me.”

“What do you want?” Pietro said. Pietro edged closer to Strucker and kept a firm hand on me.

“Just wanted to chat. The Red Skull heard some concerning news about the deal today,” Strucker said. He picked up the framed photo of Pietro, myself and our parents before setting it back onto the mantel.

“Concerning?” Pietro repeated. He pushed me back a couple of steps.

“Concerning your sister,” Strucker said.

Pietro immediately flung me behind his back. He tensed and wrapped his arm around my waist. I clung onto his back, peaking my head just a little to watch Strucker. Strucker pulled out a gun in the same instance, the safety off, and pointed it toward Pietro and me.

“There’s no need to get defensive, Pietro,” Strucker said.

“You point a gun at my sister and me in our own home. I think I have plenty of reason to get defensive,” Pietro snarled.

“You know what happens when someone makes a good deal go sour,” Strucker said. “You’re lucky the punishment doesn’t extend to you as well.”

“She’s a child!” Pietro said.

“You’re only twenty one. What does that make you?” Strucker asked.

“Responsible for her. She didn’t know any better,” Pietro said.

“Hydra has no exceptions,” Strucker said, firmly.

“If you kill her–,” Pietro snarled.

“You’ll what? Try to leave Hydra? Try to escape? If you leave, two more soldiers will replace you and they will come after you. Cut off one head. Two more grow back!” Strucker snarled. “Move aside Pietro. You’ll only make things worse.”

Pietro stared at Strucker; neither seemed to relax. Strucker sighed, a look of disgust and disappointment on his face and pointed his weapon. I was about to push Pietro away – this was my fault, not his, and it was time that I lived up to the consequences. A gun went off and I thought I was dead, but when I opened my eyes, Strucker on the ground, two bullet holes in his chest. Pietro was standing over him, a gun in his hands.

* * *

I woke up, screaming. Sweat was on my brow and I was shaking violently. I sat up straight, tears welling in my eyes.

I was angry. Pietro should have just let me die. He would be alive, I wouldn’t be on the run. Things would have been simpler. I wanted to blame Strucker and Hydra for not giving us another goddamn chance. I wanted to be angry at my parents for dying and for leaving us with nothing. At our relatives for abandoning us. If people had just cared a little bit more about two teenagers barely managing to survive on their own we wouldn’t be in this mess.

But I had to stop being angry at everyone else.

It was my fault. Pietro was just looking out for me.

He’s dead because of me.

My face felt hot. I fell out of my bed, curling into a ball, and sobbed.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed it and the little insight on Wanda's real life. 
> 
> Next chapter will be in Steve's perspective! 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	5. Steve Rogers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve Rogers deals with the aftermath of the football game.

Chapter Five: Steve Rogers

I stared at the clock and watched the minute hand tick by. 4:25. Just a couple more hours until I could get out of this godforsaken cubicle in the soul-sucking New York Times office. Sure, it was a dream job for any journalist or photographer, but for me, a soldier who’s been training and dreaming to be in the army since I was a kid, it was nothing short of excruciating boredom. I had a deadline on Monday coming up and I couldn’t find any inspiration. Sure, this job was just for the cover, but that was why I needed to get this drawing for the _Times_ done. Back in the army, whenever we were stationed, I would draw to kill time – it was easy then. Bucky always laughed at my pictures. He liked them, it made him laugh, especially when times got bad. Whenever we lost a man, Bucky would take a look through the journal I drew in. Sometimes he saw a few pictures of himself and every time he did, he would look up and say, “Don’t let Peggy see that. It’ll make her jealous.”

Peggy Carter, she was my everything. She was the only woman I ever loved. I met her two months before I was leaving for Afghanistan. Bucky and I went to this art gala, black tie sort of event that we normally stayed away from. I remember being bored out of my mind and reaching for a glass of champagne until my fingertips brushed against Peggy's, her fingers soft to the touch. My heart skipped a beat as I caught a glimpse of her sheer physical beauty: the supple, luscious, red-stained lips, the fair skin, the way that silver dress clung to her delicate curves. I let Bucky have the girls that were pining after us while Peggy and I settled into the one of the chairs where we just talked. She was traveling to America to buy artwork at an auction; she helped restore art for a museum in London. For some reason, she was fascinated with me, invited Bucky and I to London for a week. Every second I spent with her, the more and more I fell in love with her. And the harder it became to say goodbye. She wanted to stay in touch with me, a man who she had just met and a man who could barely dance without stepping on her toes. I remember we met up after my first tour: we danced the night away. She had to take lead. She kept me from giving up.

Sighing, I stared at the blank page in front of me on which I was supposed to sketch a rough draft of my cartoon. I tried not to draw silly cartoons like _Garfield_. I wanted comics that could evoke emotion out of parents or could teach younger children important lessons about life – not ones that would take their innocence away but simply enhance their intelligence.

When I couldn’t think of anything, I threw my pencil across my desk and knocked my third cup of coffee over.

“Shit!” I said.

I grabbed a couple of napkins and started mopping up the coffee. As I threw the napkins away, I heard the sound of footsteps coming closer. Recognizing the rhythmic and sharp _tap, tap_ of the shoes, I knew who it was.

“Pierce,” I said, looking up at the aged face of my boss.

Alexander Pierce laughed. “How do you always know when I’m coming?”

I shrugged. I couldn’t exactly tell my boss that all my years in the army and then the training with S.H.I.E.L.D. helped heighten my senses.

“Do you have that rough draft yet?” Pierce asked.

I shook my head. “Haven’t found the right inspiration.”

“Deadline is coming up, Rogers,” Pierce said. He kept his tone gentle but I could feel the animosity. “I don’t want to keep you from your family,” –Pierce picked up the photo of Natasha, myself and Wanda–, “but I will if you don’t get this finished.”

 _Asshole,_ I thought to myself. I clenched my fists, truly resisting the urge to punch him in the face.

“Don’t worry. I’ll get it finished,” I promised.

“I don’t doubt it. You’re very diligent,” Pierce said. “Beautiful family you’ve got. How old is your daughter?”

“She’s seventeen. She goes to Manhattan Academy,” I said.

“When did you meet your wife? What’s her name? Natalie?”

“ _Natasha_ ,” I said and I snatched the picture away from him. “We went to undergrad school together. I was her RA when she joined her freshman year. The drawing will be on your desk by Monday. Let me get to my work.”

Pierce smirked. “You don’t need to think of me as enemy, Steve.”

“I don’t,” I said, firmly. “Just someone keeping me from my job.”

Pierce laughed and turned around. When he was out of sight, I rubbed my temple with my forehead and looked back at the picture of Natasha, Wanda and me. It was forged by the best CIA computer specialists out there: it was supposed to be of a family portrait we got done right before we moved to Salem. If this was real, if I wasn’t actually a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, something as corny as a family photo is everything that I would want. A child of my own. Peggy by my side. Uncle Bucky jumping into a photo or two, calling me names every time I tried to smile.

I could never have that life. Even if I outlive my years as a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, that happy family can never exist. Bucky was gone. I looked put together on the inside but I’ve seen things, awful, horrible things, that will haunt me until the day I die.

When I couldn’t forget, when I woke screaming in the night, when I almost lost everything, Peggy was there for me. Until she wasn’t. Until one day, the doctor called and said there was tumor the size of a golf ball in Peggy’s kidney. She fought. She won a few battles but she eventually lost the war. She died four years ago when she was only twenty-eight years old. I joined S.H.I.E.L.D. almost immediately – it was a good distraction from the pain.

I so desperately wanted that family, though. I picked up the pencil and started to sketch the one thing that’s been on my mind for years. It started with a picture like that one with Natasha, Wanda and me – except real, with the beautiful face of Peggy. Round, red-lips, soft skin and a smile that kept me awake ever since I met her. Happy family. White-picket fence. Suburbs. What I wanted most. I drew us at the doctor’s office, how I cried in her arms when I heard the news and how she sat there and made me promise to never give up hope. Her surgery. The complications that followed. The machine flatlining. The gravestone. The emptiness.

I finished the rough draft at 8:15. I had to tweak the photos: add more detail, clean up some of the drawings and maybe write in a few words, but I felt proud of this work. I slide the picture into my briefcase and turned off my light. I was about to leave when I got a call. I pulled my cell phone out. Tony’s name and the goofy photo he forced me to have as his contact photo was on the screen.

“Tony?” I asked.

“Rogers. You still at your day job?” Tony asked.

“I’m about to leave,” I said.

“Good. Skip the taxi. Traffic is miserable and it’ll be faster if you just run back to the apartment,” Tony said, quickly. “It’s about Wanda.”

My heart stopped. I froze. I can’t risk another person – a child – dying under my watch.

“Is she–,” I stopped. I couldn’t say the word _dead_.

“No, no, she’s not hurt – physically,” Stark said. I let out a sigh of relief. “But something happened at the game. One minute she was all there and the next she isn’t. I think it’s just best if you get home right now.”

I nodded. “I’m coming.”

I slipped the phone back into my pocket, tightened the strap of my bag and hopped into the elevator. Outside, the line of cars backed up at the nearest stoplight looked daunting. Taking Stark’s advice to heart, I sprinted down the street, tapping my foot impatiently every time I had to wait to cross the street. Even with the lay over of waiting at some streets, I was fast. I could run laps around Sam and even Natasha, who was the one of most physically fit people I’ve ever met, couldn’t keep up with me. Normally, it’s a twenty-five minute walk from the New York Times building to the apartment. I made it back in eleven. I didn’t wait for the slow-working elevator and I avoided small talk with the super. I took the stairs three at a time before bursting into Apartment 6A. Sam, Clint and Natasha were all waiting around the kitchen table. Breathlessly, I scanned the room for Wanda.

“You just missed her,” Natasha said. “She went into her room. Said she wanted to be alone.”

“Did you run here super soldier?” Clint asked. “You smell like a sweaty wrestler.”

I tossed my bag onto the kitchen counter, poured myself a glass of water and slumped into an open chair beside Natasha.

“What was it? Stark said something bad happened,” I asked.

“I was watching her the whole time – I saw it happen,” Sam said. “One minute she was perfectly fine, talking to that Peter boy, and the next she looked like she saw a ghost. All the color drained from her face… She was just staring off at nothing.”

“You know what it was?” I asked.

Sam nodded. “I’ve seen stuff like that happen when I was working for the VA. I’ve seen people go through these flashbacks with vets who have PTSD. They can happen anywhere and anything can be a trigger. Has this kind of stuff happened to her before?”

Natasha shook her head. “Not that I’ve seen. Does she need some kind of medication?”

“I’m no doctor but I think it’s best just to wait this out. Flashbacks and nightmares are common for people that go through something traumatic. If this becomes more prevalent or more disruptive in her life, then I'll make sure Fury gets her the help she needs. Probably an actual doctor. We can't and we shouldn't ignore this,” Sam said.

“I’ll get J.A.R.V.I.S. to track any signs of severe mental health issues,” Stark said over comms. “Sorry I couldn’t be there. I have a date with Potts.”

“Did he just say he has a date with pot?” Clint asked.

“Pepper Potts,” Stark clarified.

“Thank you, Tony,” I said. “I mean it. I don’t think you understand how invaluable you are to this mission.”

Tony chuckled. “Don’t get emotional on me, Cap. I’m getting out of here. Have a good night.”

“You too, Tony,” I said.

Natasha started to laugh. “As your wife, should I be concerned about this relationship between you and Tony?”

I smiled behind the pain; it was exactly what Peggy used to say about Bucky and me. “Did Wanda at least have a good time before _this_?”

Sam nodded. “She looked like she was really enjoying herself with that Peter. You concerned about him at all? They seem to be getting really close.”

I shook my head. “I’ll have Stark check him out in the morning but I think it’s good that Wanda is branching out, meeting new people. It’s not good for her to be living in her head all the time. Do you think you can keep her company tomorrow, Nat?”

“What’s going on tomorrow?” Natasha asked.

“Stark’s incessant calls to Hank Pym pulled through. We’re meeting with him tomorrow,” I said.

“Good. We can finally get that tic tac to come out of hiding,” Sam said.

“Tic Tac? I thought we were calling him Ant Man?” Clint asked.

“Both work,” Natasha added.

“Well, enough of this. If this was all we needed to come for, then I’m gonna head out,” Clint said. “I’ve got a six pack of beer, a couple of Bond movies and some homemade pie that I stole from your fridge with my name on it.”

“Is that where the last slice of my cheesecake went?” Natasha asked.

Clint snickered. “Sam, you wanna join me?”

Sam stood up. “Thanks for the offer man, but there’s a girl down at the local bar that I’ve been trying to–… Well, I don’t think Steve likes that talk so I’ll leave it to your imagination.”

Sam and Clint, joking around with each other, were laughing the entire way out the door. I heated up some soup and made a salad for Natasha and me while we watched a movie on the flat screen in the living room. It was a comedy movie. It was good but Natasha and I couldn’t quite enjoy it fully. The humor was more childish than I would’ve liked. I know if Bucky was watching this, he would be rolling on the ground, laughing. This was the kind of ridiculous, obscene jokes and banter that Bucky lived for.

“You ready to go to bed?” Natasha asked when it was 10:20 that night.

I nodded. “Yeah. You checked on Wanda yet?” I asked.

“No, but J.A.R.V.I.S. will wake us if anything suspicious or out of the ordinary happens,” Natasha said.

I hesitated and looked back at Wanda’s room. The thought of her being pain right now when Natasha or I could be in there helping her was unbearable. I remembered the first time I met her: we had arranged with her older brother, Pietro, to meet. He would give up information on Hydra in return for a pardon and high-level protection for him and his sister. Natasha, our S.T.R.I.K.E. team and I were stationed at the water park. Natasha and I were supposed to meet the kids while the rest were our back up. When we showed up, though, people were screaming and running for their lives. Natasha shot Rumlow with a stinger but more Hydra agents arrived and, to prevent getting in a gun fight where civilians could get caught in the crossfire, we focused on getting Wanda out. She was crumbled on the ground, cradling her brother; I nearly had to drag her away from his body.

Natasha and I put Wanda in a S.H.I.E.L.D.-owned apartment. Wanda didn’t speak to us for almost a week: she picked at the food and hardly drank the water we brought her, curled up in a ball in the corner of her room. Watching her shake back and forth, her cheeks stained with tears and her body emaciated, she looked so incredibly young. I sat with her and tried to get to her talk for hours almost every day and when she finally did, when she broke down after sharing every intimate detail about the horrors she had to live through, I held her in my arms. I vowed that I would never let anything bad happen to her again.

Even though Natasha had a harder time opening up to Wanda, I would never doubt how much dedication Natasha has for this mission. Nat and I have been working together for several years now, but I don’t know a lot about her past. I know she started young, worked for the wrong people and made quite a few enemies. But she had a good heart and a desire to do what was right.

Natasha took my hand and together we walked to our bedroom. Natasha lived up to her job as an interior decorator quite well given the limited space she had for our room. The color scheme was neutral: white, like the bed spread, tan and black, like the pillowcases and picture frames. Three pictures above the bed were all fake, all of myself, Wanda and Natasha pretending to be a happy family. The bathroom was on the left and a walk-in closet on the other.

Natasha pulled her pajama shorts and long-sleeve shirt from under the pillows. She started to unbutton her shirt. I flushed red and turned back to the door. “I’m going to get some water. Do you want any?”

Natasha laughed. “You’re pathetic. I’m alright, though, Steve.”

I went to the kitchen, my cheeks still hot. When I walked back inside, Natasha was already dressed and in bed. Even with her hair unwashed and no makeup beyond the mascara smudged under her left eye, she was undoubtedly beautiful. Her curly hair framed her soft face, and her bangs only slightly covered her green, sparkling eyes, which made them ever more alluring every time she looked up at me. But it wasn’t just her physique that I found attractive. It was her. Her intelligence and strength. Her compassion and devotion to good. Natasha’s made some ugly mistakes but she’s done what she can to make up for it. Everyone deserves a second chance. I would die for her and I know she would die for me, too.

“You want to keep standing there looking like an idiot or are you going to get into bed?” Natasha asked.

“Do you want me to take the couch? I don’t mind,” I said.

Natasha rolled her eyes. “For the hundredth time, we’re supposed to be a married couple. Now get your ass in bed, Steve.”

I smiled. “Call me old fashioned.”

I went to the bathroom and got dressed in sweatpants and a plain white t-shirt. I slid into my side of the bed, careful to leave space between Natasha and me. Natasha stayed up, reading magazines for a little bit longer until we both fell asleep.

I woke up to the sound of whimpering. For a moment, I thought I was stuck in my own nightmare but then I realized that I was in the bedroom with Natasha and that the whimpering was coming from the stereo system we set up to monitor noises in Wanda’s room. I looked over: Natasha was stirring awake. She rubbed her puffy eyes and turned the lights on.

“What is it? J.A.R.V.I.S.?” Natasha asked.

“Ms. Maximoff is experiencing some sort of nightmare,” J.A.R.V.I.S. said.

Natasha and I looked at each other. “Why don’t you let me handle this?” I offered.

“Are you sure?” Natasha asked, turning on the bedside table lamp.

I nodded. “I’ll make some tea. Do you want any?”

“Sure,” Natasha said.

I walked to the kitchen, flipped on the lights over one of the counters and turned on the teakettle. I prepared three cups of tea. As I stood there waiting for the water to boil, I heard a thump followed by a sob coming from Wanda’s room. I grabbed one of the guns hidden underneath the kitchen table and ran to her room. I immediately noticed that Wanda’s sheets were dragged off of her bed. Wanda had cocooned herself in her sheets and was pressing herself against the corner of her room. She was curling into herself. It looked just like she had when Natasha and I first took her in.

It was like Pietro had died all over again.

I set the gun onto her desk and sat down beside her. “Are you okay, Wanda?” I asked. What a stupid question. Of course she wasn’t okay.

“It’s my fault. How – how I could let – how I could let this happen?” She panted, her voice weak. I repositioned myself a little so that I could stare right into her eyes. They were wide were horror and they looked haunted. She wasn’t just in pain; she was broken.

“What did you see, Wanda?”

She shook her head. “I can’t – I don’t…”

I held my hands up. “Alright, you don’t have to tell me anything. I’m not gonna force you to, either. I’m just here to help.”

Wanda hiccupped. She pulled the sheets from around her face, which was wet from tears and her bottom lip was quivering. I opened my arms for her and she collapsed into me. She was so small that I could wrap my arms around her completely. Wanda pressed her face into my chest, gasping for breath as she tried to calm herself down. As her sobs grew louder and more violent, my grip tightened. I wasn’t sure how long I was sitting there, cradling her, but I didn’t care. I just wanted to make sure that she was okay.

“What did you see, Wanda?” I asked again when her crying was no more than some sniffling and a few hiccups.

She pulled away from me. “Do you remember when I told you about Strucker? How Pietro…” she stopped; she didn’t need to say any more for me to know what story she was talking about. “I should have just let Strucker kill me. Pietro would be in alive.”

“You don’t know that for sure. Even if Pietro was still alive, he’d still be a slave to Hydra,” I said, a little bit more intensely than I meant. “Tell you what? Why don’t you get back into bed? I’ll make you some tea. It’ll make you feel better.”

Wanda hesitated.

“Come on,” I said. “When have I ever led you astray?”

Wanda sighed. She held on my arm and I helped her back onto her bed. I helped make her bed by spreading her sheets over her and then tucking the sheets back in before going back to the kitchen, taking the gun I brought to her room with me. The water I had boiled before was still warm. I poured it into her cup, added a little bit of honey and stirred it up. I walked back to Wanda’s room. She was sitting on her bed, playing with her fingers when I walked inside. I sat at the edge of her bed and handed her the cup of tea.

“It’s chamomile. I used to make it for Nat whenever a mission didn’t go too great,” I said.

“Thanks,” Wanda whispered.

“Are you feeling any better?” I asked.

Wanda shrugged. “A little.”

“Good. Maybe we all can get some sleep now,” Stark said through the little speakers we set up in everyone’s room to communicate without our comms in the apartment. His voice seemed louder than usual given that it was the dead of night.

“Stark’s awake?” Wanda asked. “How does he know what’s going on?”

“The sound in your room plays in everyone else’s. When J.A.R.V.I.S. hears a sound in your room that is out of the ordinary, it triggers an alarm to wake everyone up,” I explained.

Wanda’s gaze dropped to the ground. “Sorry.”

I shook my head. “Don’t be. I know what it’s like to blame yourself when someone you love dies.”

The words hurt me more than I realized they would; I haven’t thought about _that_ in a long time. But it seemed like Wanda appreciated what I was saying so I guess making sure Wanda feel better was just more important than how I felt.

“This job…” I started. “You do everything you can to save as many people as possible. Sometimes you can’t always do that. And then there are times when you get the chance to not only save other people but also the ones most important to you. Sometimes that requires sacrificing yourself in the process. It’s a choice you sometimes just have to make. Pietro made a choice like that when he shot Strucker. He _chose_ to save you. He chose to help take Hydra down.”

“You talk about him like he’s a hero,” Wanda whispered.

I nodded. “He is.”

She scoffed. “That’s not what Nick Fury said.”

“What are you talking about?”

“When you first took me in, I was in a car with you, Natasha and Nick Fury. You thought I was asleep. I wasn’t. I heard every word he said. ‘Get everything you can from her. Keep her alive so she can testify. Kid’s lucky S.H.I.E.L.D. needs her, otherwise she’d be in the ground with her disgusting criminal of a brother.’ I appreciate what you and Natasha have done for me. I wouldn’t be alive right now if it wasn’t for you but I can’t help but question your motives behind taking such good care of me,” she whispered.

I looked into Wanda’s eyes: they weren’t angry or terrified; they were exhausted. I felt all my blood boil with rage. “You know what, Wanda? _Fuck_ Nick Fury.”

Stark laughed. “I thought you didn’t like that kind of talk, Cap?”

I ignored Stark. “Fury takes the world as it is, not as people would like it to be. He views humans as self-motivated; he doesn’t trust anyone. He looked at you and Pietro and assumed neither of you cared about taking down Hydra – you just wanted to save yourself. I try to be more idealistic. I joined S.H.I.E.L.D. to protect people, not to stop them. Fury may view you as an asset but I view you as a kid just trying to do the right thing. You aren’t just another job to me. I will do everything it takes to make sure you walk away from this. I promise you that you will have as normal of a life as you can. You just have to trust me.”

Wanda stared at me for a very long moment. She gave me a watery smile, “I do. And I’m sorry for not always believing in you and Nat.”

I chuckled. “It’s alright. I know we haven’t known each other for that long but all five us, we’re basically a family, right?”

“I get to be the cool uncle, though,” Stark added.

Wanda laughed. “I think that’s Clint.”

Stark gasped. “What? Clint?! Clint’s asleep right now! He found out that you weren’t actually hurt and rolled straight back to bed! I’m up right now, making sure you’re alright. Clint? The cool uncle? Ridiculous!”

I rolled my eyes. “Okay. I think it’s time to go to bed. Stark and I have a long day tomorrow – today technically. We finally got that meeting with Hank Pym that we’ve been waiting for.”

“Thank you,” Wanda said, quietly.

I nodded. I got up from the edge of her bed and took her empty teacup.

When I reached the doorway, Wanda called my name, “Steve?”

I turned around. “Yeah?”

“When you were talking about someone choosing to sacrifice themselves, you sounded like you speak from experience,” Wanda said.

I winced, as I tried very hard not to think about it – not to think about _Bucky._ “The war took a lot away from me.”

“You know what I just realized?” She asked, quietly.

“What,” I said, walking a little closer to her.

“You don’t know my real name, do you?” She whispered.

I sighed. “I don’t think it’s such a good idea to be sharing personal information like that, Wanda. We don’t something–…”

“My real name is Scarlet,” she whispered.

I stopped short. I knew that it was against my better judgment to let Wanda share personal information but I part of me felt _delighted_ knowing just a little bit of information when Fury did _everything_ that he could to keep us in the dark.

“I guess I just wanted you to know something real,” Wanda muttered. “But you can still call me Wanda?”

I smiled. “Goodnight Wanda.”

I closed the door behind her, my heart sinking lower into my chest. I hope that what I said made her feel better but, as selfish as this is, opening up to her brought up some things that I would have rather kept to myself, especially with Stark and the others listening in. No one besides Fury knew what really happened before I was honorably discharged, and even then, Fury didn’t ask me to go into detail.

I had to live and die with the secret of what happened between Bucky and me in Afghanistan.

Thinking of Bucky left a bad taste in my mouth. I shook my head, as if that would help remove all the bad memories I had. I reheated the water I had made and poured some into the two cups of tea I prepared for Natasha and myself. I nudged the door to our bedroom open where Natasha was wide awake, perusing through that same magazine she was looking at before we went to bed.

“How is she?” Natasha asked, tossing the magazine aside.

I rolled into bed and handed her a teacup. “Shaken. Here’s your tea.”

Natasha took it. “You made chamomile? I thought this was for when missions are a bust.”

“How do you think this mission is going?” I muttered.

Natasha sighed, her smug smile fading. “She’s still alive, Steve. Take that as a win.” Natasha took a long sip of tea. “Wow. You even added my favorite ingredients.”

I chuckled. “I don’t understand how you can tolerate chamomile and rum.”

Natasha laughed. “I’m from Russia.”

I chuckled.

 _I’m from Russia._ That’s about all I know about the real Natasha Romanoff, which was fine with me. It was her personal life and quite frankly I didn’t care what she did in the past. Her past shouldn’t define her future. But still. It’s kind of hard to trust someone when you don’t know who that someone really is.

“Are you ready for bed?” I asked.

Natasha nodded. She turned the lights off and threw the covers over her.

“Steve?” She said, quietly. “Can I ask you something? And you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

“What is it?” I asked.

“Where you serious when you told Wanda about Fury and S.H.I.E.L.D.?” Natasha asked.

“Why? You think I was lying?”

Natasha chuckled. “No. I just think you may be in the wrong business, Rogers. You’d be too good of a person for this kind of stuff.”

I winced. It wasn’t like I was lying to Wanda: she _was_ more important to me than she probably realized, and I wanted to save people. But why I joined S.H.I.E.L.D. wasn’t as selfless as Natasha made it out to be. I wasn’t America’s Golden Boy like Bucky and Peggy used to call me.

“It wasn’t the only reason why I joined S.H.I.E.L.D.,” I said. “You remember Peggy, right?”

“Your wife?” Natasha asked.

I nodded. “After Peggy died, I questioned my very existence a lot. I didn’t realize until she gone how much my life depended on hers. Used to be that serving in the military and seeing Peggy every day was why I got up in the morning. I lost them both. I had no direction. It was a dark time in my life so I knew I had to do something. I knew I needed a uniform to live in and to serve America for the greater good. I wanted to forget about all the pain I felt and sometimes still feel. Wearing a S.H.I.E.L.D. badge helps me to forget.”

I rolled over to look at Natasha, who was staring at me with wide eyes.

“You remember that mission in Lagos?” Natasha asked. “You and I were going after that terrorist with the biological weapon. Do you remember when the guy pulled the pin of a grenade and you covered me with your body behind that car?”

“How can I forget? I cracked one of your ribs I threw myself on you so hard,” I said.

“You also had to get skin grafts on that side of your body because the grenade burned your skin right off,” Natasha said, seriously. “The point is Steve, you _always_ put yourself last, whether it’s during a mission or deciding who gets the last slice of pizza. It’s okay to put yourself first for a change. I mean, just look at me, Steve. I joined S.H.I.E.L.D. because I’ve got a lot of red in my ledger, and I wanted to wipe it clean.”

I felt my stomach twist. These deep conversations like this normally don’t happen that often.

“If we really are a family like you say, Steve, then we’re one fucked up family,” Natasha said.

“Being a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent probably doesn’t help,” I muttered. “All the killing and lying. Sometimes being a little honest about who you are is cleansing.”

Natasha shrugged. “Truth is just a matter of circumstances. It’s not all things to all people all the time. And neither am I.”

“That’s a tough way to live,” I said.

“Good way not to die, though,” Natasha said. “I’m going to bed.”

I nodded. “Yeah. Night, Natasha.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took a little bit longer to post a new chapter. Life. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed a chapter from Steve's perspective. If the narrative sounds similar to Wanda, I'm still trying to work it out.


	6. Steve Rogers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Tony travel to the Pym Residence.

Chapter Six: Steve Rogers

The next morning, I woke up before my alarm sounded. I turned it off before it could wake up Natasha, who was curled up closer to the center of the bed than she was on her side. I picked out my clothes and headed to the bathroom to take a shower. When I got out, Natasha was still fast asleep. I spread the down comforter over her as it had started to fall off before going to check on Wanda. I pushed the door open a crack: she was kicking her leg back and forth, as if she was about to wake up. I closed the door behind me. I started brewing a cup of coffee and poured myself some of the green smoothie I made yesterday; this was practically all I had for breakfast. Yeah, it probably wasn’t very healthy for a man of my size to be living on such a meager diet but I had lived on a lot less while I was stationed in Afghanistan.

I was halfway through my breakfast when the doorbell rang. I checked the various computers stationed throughout the apartment that was linked to the camera outside the apartment: it was Tony. I went to open it where I found Tony, dressed in a much too formal suit and one of those awful, pink-lensed sunglasses, leaning against the doorway. He was holding a paper bag in his hands.

“I brought some breakfast,” Tony said, letting himself in.

“Thank you. And I told you to knock, not ring the doorbell. I’m trying to let Nat and Wanda sleep in. No one really got a lot of sleep last night,” I reprimanded.

Tony snorted. “If you’re curious, I was one of those people as well.” He set the paper bag onto the counter, grabbed a plate from the cabinet and pulled out some bagels from the local bakery down the street. I poured Tony a cup of coffee as he slathered a layer of cream cheese onto a bagel for himself. “Do you want any?” Tony asked. “Or is that green poison your breakfast?”

“It’s green juice. It’s good for you,” I said. “I’ll take half of one.”

Stark pushed the plate of bagels and the container of cream cheese toward me; the bagels were so fresh they were still warm.

“What time do we need to leave?” I asked.

“Pym’s house is about an hour and a half away. J.A.R.V.I.S., how’s traffic doing?” Tony asked.

“Traffic is better than usual. Calculating traffic, it should take two hours to drive to Hank Pym’s house,” the automated computer said.

I still liked to consider myself on the younger side at just thirty-four. I understood technology (as in I didn’t need Natasha explaining how to use an iPhone like she had do with Clint) and the language that teenagers and young adults used wasn’t completely foreign to me, but the innovations and technology that Stark used were a little beyond my comprehension. Don’t get me wrong, J.A.R.V.I.S. is sometimes easier to talk to than Nat or Clint, not to mention he’s convenient and makes our lives a lot easier. But the thought of artificial intelligence running Wanda’s protection detail, as Tony had suggested multiple times when we first asked him to join this operation, made me uneasy.

“We should probably get going,” I said as I loaded up the dishes Tony and I had been using into the dishwasher.

“Just to let you know, Cap, I took Ashlynn today,” Tony said as we started walking down the stairs.

“Ashlynn?” I repeated. I waved goodbye to the landlord, who just shrugged in response, and then opened the door for Stark. We walked outside of the apartment.

“Ashlynn. My Audi R8-V10,” Stark said.

He pointed toward the two-seater luxury car in front of me with slick new yellow paint; the licenses plate read _Stark8_. It was beautifully crafted and its lavish appearance suited Stark and his personality, but I had to say, the color was god-awful.

“Practical for a long-distance drive like today,” I murmured.

Our sheer difference in opinion on the cars that Tony uses is a fairly accurate representation of the difference of Tony and myself. Perhaps our inability to see eye to eye on anything was due to our individual upbringings. Tony was born into wealth in a house of beauty (he had showed me a few pictures) on Long Island. His mistakes were cleaned up by his parents’ money; he survived hard times that brought other families to the mercy of the rich. Stark, who attended nothing but private schools in downtown Manhattan, was exceptionally smart. He always said that he hated school, which I understood. Being cooped in a little desk all day wasn’t exactly anyone’s dream but Stark didn’t have a _problem_ with school. He got a full ride to MIT. He received master’s degrees in electrical engineering and physics.

Sure, Stark was smart and, of course, I knew that underneath the attitude and vanity, Stark had a heart of gold. However, his life of ease and my life of hardship always created a barrier between us.

School was never easy for me. Neither was my home life. I grew up in the lower-east side of Manhattan in a shabby home with parents who could hardly afford to pay for our food, let alone school supplies or nice clothes. I worked for as long as I could remember, whether it was chopping up wood at the local hardware store or washing my neighbor’s cars when I was just seven years old. I didn’t mind working, though, especially since Bucky and I almost always had the same job and worked the same shifts. Bucky, who was a little bit better off than me, gave me rides to and from work, and never once asked for gas money. The only repayment he asked for was shining his shoes or taking the garbage out for him.

All the heavy lifting work I did helped me bulk up, especially during my teen years when I hit my growth spurt and went from 5’7” my freshman year to 6’2” my sophomore year. I never played football like Bucky, though. But my size and strength was never useless. My size helped me survive the fights that I would sometimes drag myself into whenever a bully was picking on another person (and if I couldn’t handle it myself, Bucky came to help). But every so often being strong didn’t help when a man would pull a gun out on me on the streets. I’d give him a few crumpled up twenties and the man would be on his way. My senior year, though, a girl in my class was shot dead in a mugging, and that’s when I decided to join the military. Protecting people that deserved protection was more important than my own safety; Bucky and I enlisted together.

I had to work for everything I had and, sometimes when I hear Tony dismiss the people who do the dirty work that he would never dare to do, I get a little angry. I sympathize with Tony, though, specifically when it comes to his relationship with his family: he and his father, Howard, who I had met once a school field trip, were estranged and before they could ever attempt to rekindle their relationship, both of Stark’s parents were killed in a car accident. My father, Joseph, died when I was a kid and right before I graduated high school, my mom died of pneumonia.

“J.A.R.V.I.S. is going to drive for us,” Stark said as he slid into the passenger seat. “I’m going to get some shut eye. I’ll need my beauty sleep before I have to talk to Hank Pym.”

I sat in the driver’s seat; the inside smelled of a forest and new car.

“If you want, you can get a little shut eye, Cap. I know you were up all night,” Stark said.

I shook my head. I put the key into the ignition and pulled the car out of the parking lot. “I don’t know how comfortable I am with J.A.R.V.I.S. taking the wheel while we’re asleep.”

“To be fair, Captain Rogers, humans are the primary cause behind most automobile crashes,” J.A.R.V.I.S. said.

I smiled. “All due respect, I’d still rather have my life in my own hands. And there’s no need to call me captain anymore, J.A.R.V.I.S. I gave that title up when I was discharged from the military.”

Stark laughed. He had reclined his chair back and cocked his head to the side to look at me.

“If it means anything, you’re practically the boss of this operation,” Stark said.

I rolled my eyes. “Technically, Nick Fury is the boss of this operation.”

“Fuck Nick Fury, though, right?” Tony said.

I sighed. “I’m never going to live that down, am I? In my defense, it was what Wanda needed to here in the moment.”

“I’m not giving you a hard time about it,” Tony said. “It was just surprising to hear you say that. You’re a military guy. I thought it was practically a crime to talk bad about your superiors.”

I shrugged. “Fury isn’t like my superiors in the military. Fury is manipulative, secretive, he knows everything about everyone but we know nothing about him – or each other. I wouldn’t want to trade in my uniform for any other job but being a S.H.E.I.L.D. agent can take a lot out of you.”

“Do you at least have something outside of work to concentrate on?” Tony asked. “Maybe a hobby? Girlfriend? Pet?”

“Drawing. If I didn’t go into the military, I would be a fine arts major,” I said.

Tony laughed. “You draw as a part of your job! You’re telling me you don’t have anything else?”

I shrugged. The truth of the matter was my life was consumed with work, which was how I liked it. I didn’t need to have pastimes. I kept myself busy so that I wouldn’t find myself with nothing to do. If I wasn’t keeping my mind trained on a certain task on head, I tend to dwell – and I hate dwelling.

“What about girls?” Tony asked.

I chuckled. “I’m supposed to be married.”

Tony rolled his eye. “Seriously, though, no one special?”

I bit down on my lip as I tried to keep my face straight as my mind flashed to Peggy. Natasha was the only partner I ever worked with that knew about her, and Sam only knew because of our time in the army together. I tried to make myself seem nonchalant about a question that, though unknown to Stark, was perhaps one of the most painful questions that I have had to answer.

I tried to make my voice playful. “It’s pretty difficult to find someone with shared life experience.” Every time I met another S.H.I.E.L.D. agent who would pry for more information on my personal life than I was willing to share, I would share this rehearsed answer with them. Most agents understood exactly what I meant and I didn’t press anything further on the subject matter.

“What about Nat?” Stark asked. “I mean, I know she’s a little scary, but she’s pretty hot.”

“Natasha is attractive, yes,” I admitted, though I feel guilty for expressing such a crude comment about my partner, “but I’m fully committed to keeping our relationship strictly platonic. Besides, getting involved with your partner can impair your ability to perform.”

Stark laughed. “Normally getting involved with someone enhances your performance ability.”

My cheeks flushed red. “I meant in the field. Emotional attachment to partners, especially when partnership is never permanent, can get very complicated very quickly. Really, being in a relationship with anyone is difficult. If they take it the wrong way, tell the wrong people, are used as leverage against you – it gets really messy really fast.”

“But you don’t want to be S.H.I.E.L.D. agent your entire life, do you? Do you ever _want_ to be a relationship?” Stark asked.

Another difficult question for me.

“Want and reality are two very different things,” I murmured. “I want a life outside of S.H.I.E.L.D. and a family to come home to, but that’s never going to happen. Because I don’t have a place beyond this, beyond serving my country. I used to but not anymore. Besides, Natasha’s worse off than me.”

“What do you mean?” Stark asked. He wasn’t reclining in the passenger seat anymore and he wasn’t listening with closed eyes.

I hesitated. “It’s not in my place to say, Tony. It’s Nat’s.”

Tony’s once serious face relaxed back into his casual expression. He leaned back in his chair. “Fair. Okay, I’m going to sleep. J.A.R.V.I.S., wake me up when we get to Pym’s home.”

“Right away, sir,” J.A.R.V.I.S. said.

Tony fell asleep in a matter of minutes, leaving me to the silence in the car with nothing but the road to focus on. However, driving on the highway at a steady pace was starting to become mindless. My stomach twisted every time an image of Peggy would flash in my mind. Or the parties I used to have with my buddies in the military who I don’t keep in contact with after what happened on the train with Bucky.

Suddenly, I felt the wheel jerk from my head as the car veered onto the exit. “Excuse my control over the vehicle,” J.A.R.V.I.S. said. “You were about to miss the exit.”

“Oh, right,” I said. “Thank you, J.A.R.V.I.S. Why don’t you take control of the wheel? I’ll just stay awake.”

“As you wish, Captain,” J.A.R.V.I.S. said.

I let go of the wheel and removed my feet from the brake and gas pedal tentatively. To my intense relief, the car didn’t slowly come to halt but keep moving at a consistent pace. We stayed in the center of our lane. When I thought we were going to miss the turn to Pym’s mansion, I was about to take control of the wheel but J.A.R.V.I.S. signaled and turned the car before I got the chance.

“You don’t need to worry, Captain Rogers, though I understand why you are,” J.A.R.V.I.S. said.

I leaned against the seat, my muscles relaxing until Stark suddenly mumbled, “Why are you talking about the weather?”

I looked over at him. “You talking in your sleep?”

“No,” Stark grumbled. “Wanda and that kid friend is jabbering in my ear over comms – about _weather_.”

“I thought I told you to turn your comms off,” I said. “Natasha would page us if something bad happened.”

But before Stark could answer, J.A.R.V.I.S. said, “We’re here,” as he pulled next to the sidewalk in front of the Pym residence.

Pym’s home was primarily made of wood with Victorian-styled windows and moldings on the rooftop. Hedges decorated the edges of him home. But beyond the red paint and the green of the house, the Pym residence lacked color. We got out of the car, which locked automatically after we left, and walked up the cement stairs to the red door. I stepped onto the welcome mat and rung the doorbell.

“Yes!” Tony exclaimed. I turned around as he pointed to his comms. “Sorry, I really should turn this off.” He did so and went to stand by me. “Ugh. Even his doormat is inferior to mine.”

I rolled my head back in exasperation. “Tony, please. Wanda’s future depends on this meeting. Try to be on your best behavior.”

“I’ll try,” Tony muttered.

A second later, the door swung open and a young woman with short and straight black hair answered the door. She looked me up and down, her eyes intense with judgment. When her eyes rested on Tony, her features contorted in an expression of anger and disdain.

“ _Stark_ ,” the woman sneered.

“Glad to see you Ms. Van Dyne,” Stark replied. He gave her a funny smile, as if it was physically hurting Stark to be semi-polite to this woman.

“Steve Rogers,” I said, holding my hand out.

Hope took it skeptically. “Hope Van Dyne. To what do we owe pleasure, Stark?”

“Artist,” Tony said.

Hope raised her eyebrows. I sighed. “We have a meeting with your father.” I elbowed Tony in the shoulder and whispered into his ear, “ _Turn your comms off now!”_

The woman narrowed her black, arching eyebrows. “I was never informed of any meeting.”

Tony snorted. “Probably above your pay grade. Can we come in?”

Hope pursed her lips, stared at Tony and me for the longest moment before slowly pushing the door open with her back. She kept her arms crossed as she held the door open for Tony and me. The inside of their home matched the rustic, old-fashioned style of the exterior of the Pym Residence. The floors were cherry; the walls were painted dark red and forest green and the entire house smelled faintly of trees. Black and white pictures in black frames decorated the walls. Lamps hung from the ceiling and casted a yellow film on our hands and faces.

Hope led us into the kitchen, which was much smaller compared to the one at the Stark Tower, but I liked it better. The antique tables and cabinets with the still classy China suited me more. Hope pointed toward the oak table where Stark and I sat, in the center of which was a flower pot and some cream and sugar.

“Here’s some coffee,” Hope said, sliding three yellow ceramic cups in front of Stark and me.

“Thank you,” I said.

“Cream and sugar are on the table. Help yourself if you want any,” Hope said.

I reached for the sugar when I stopped. Ants lined up a single file line were practically marching up and down the side of the bowl of sugar. They looked like they were working together to pick up two cubes of sugar and then crawling in the same straight line to drop the sugar cubes into third cup. Then, the ants collectively stirred the cup of coffee with what looked like a popsicle stick. My mouth dropped open; Stark seemed to have a similar reaction.

“That is _disgusting!”_ Stark said.

“Why fear scientific advancements,” –came a booming voice from the shadows of the hallway. It was Hank Pym, who strolled to the table and took a sip from the cup of coffee–, “when you can embrace it?”

Hank Pym was smaller than Stark and looked much older. He had white flowy hair. His pointy chin was covered with a white beard and white moustache. The man, though much older than Stark, was dressed in practically the same attire: slacks, a white dress shirt, a vest and red and blue striped tie. Hank Pym straightened his eyeglasses and gave Tony and me a wide smile.

“Are you controlling these things?” I asked, incredulous.

“Yes, with a cypernetic helmet,” Hank said.

“How _useful_ ,” Stark murmured, still staring in disgust at the ants crawling on the table.

“I haven’t seen _you_ create anything like this,” Hank said. He and Tony were both speaking with calm voices, but I could practically _smell_ the malice and disdain wrecking from their voices.

Tony narrowed his eyes. “That’s because I focus on inventing things of actual importance.”

I cleared my throat. The ants taking away my appetite, I set the cup of coffee aside. “Excuse Tony. Thank you for meeting with us. I know you must be very busy, especially in your line of work.”

“Being an ant farmer probably isn’t all that busy,” Tony muttered under his breath.

“We just have a few questions about a Mr. Scott Lang. I believe we told you that in the email we sent you,” I said.

Hope, who was lingering by the doorway, froze. Her head snapped up, eyes wide with both curiosity and panic. She walked toward the edge of the table and said quite seriously, “ _What do you want with Scott?”_ She spoke each word with fervency.

“It’s a need to know basis,” Tony said, straightening up.

“Hope, why don’t you go downstairs and look over my blueprints for the upstairs bathroom?” Hank said. “I’ll take care of Scott for you.”

Hope stared at her father before sighing and turning on her heels. When the sound of her footsteps disappeared and a door slammed, Hank Pym looked back at Stark and me before quickly saying, “Excuse my daughter. She and Scott are quite close. What do you want with Scott?”

“We need to talk to him. We believe that he has information on a case Tony and I are working on. We need to know if you have a way of communicating with him – or at least if you know where he is,” I said.

Hank looked at Stark and me, skeptically; my frustration was growing as Hank’s silence persisted. He opened his mouth and said in a very sharp tone, “Why would I tell you anything?”

My frustration got the better of me. Tony and I – at least me – were being nothing but polite. All we wanted was a simple location for a man that we really only needed some information from. Pym’s lack of compliance reminded me so much of the men in the army that I trained with, the ones who would push back against or be difficult with orders, talk bad about our superiors in the bunks at night. Those men pissed me off. I ripped out my S.H.I.E.L.D. badge, at the very bottom of which was the words _Central Intelligence Agency._ If I had been Natasha, I would have taken my gun out, too.

“Because if you don’t, you’ll end up in a federal prison,” I said. “Then we’ll force a location out of you.”

Hank, his face becoming suddenly very pale, reached for my badge. He stared at it with an analytic expression before tossing my badge back onto the table. “S.H.I.E.L.D.? Never heard of that.”

“It’s a part of the CIA,” I said, stowing the badge away.

Hank stared at Tony and me, as if trying to decide whether this was a bluff or not. He took long sip of coffee before the setting the almost empty cup onto the table. “A federal agent and Tony Stark? Weird combination… What exactly do you think Scott did?”

“We already told you. It’s not Lang we’re after,” I said.

“So who are you after then?” Hank said.

Tony and I looked at each other for a long moment before I finally said, “A _very_ dangerous group of people who don’t care about who they kill as long as they get what they want. And the more you know about these people and what’s going on, the more likely it is that you and your daughter become a target.”

Hank didn’t look satisfied with my more than vague answer but didn’t press further on the subject. “And you think Scott can help you find these _people_?”

“Scott Lang conned this group of people – which I believe _you_ already know – and in doing so may have procured some valuable information. We aren’t interested in Scott’s past crimes. We aren’t looking to prosecute Scott once we find him. We just want his help,” I urged.

Hank’s face continued to look unsure. He was slouched in his chair, staring at Tony and me. He sat there in silence for another minute.

Tony sighed. “Okay, enough waiting. He clearly doesn’t want to talk to us. I say we toss his ass into a holding cell. Maybe let Nat take a couple of tries at him – he’ll squeal like a pig.”

I held my hand up. Glancing around at his kitchen I noticed that there was a surprising amount of pictures of his daughter from all ages, her school pictures, her graduation photos and even a couple pictures of her and Scott. I could play to Hank’s relationship with his daughter. I knew it may be telling Hank too much, but if it got Hank to talk to us, it would be worth it.

“Mr. Pym,” I said, “besides the fact that you are legally required to tell us what we want to know, there’s someone who’s life depends on bringing this group down.”

Tony’s head snapped up. “Uh, Steve, maybe we shouldn’t–.”

“How so?” Hank asked, looking suddenly more interested in this conversation.

“Top secret–,” Tony started.

“A seventeen year old girl is being hunted by these people. They took everything from her. The sooner we take them down, the sooner she can go back to her normal life,” I said.

“Why don’t we just show him a picture of her while we’re at it?” Tony mumbled.

Ignoring Tony, I pressed on. “You have a daughter, Hank. Imagine if that was her, constantly living in her fear, having to watch her back and not knowing who she could trust,” I said.

Hank’s expression softened. “A child is being hunted?”

“She’s been on the run for four years,” I said.

Hank sighed. “If I tell you where Scott is, do you promise to let him go afterwards?”

I nodded. “You have my word.”

“And how I can trust you?”

Tony snorted. “His nickname in the army was _Captain America._ Of course you can trust him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys liked it! Next chapter will be in Wanda's perspective again


	7. Wanda Maximoff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wanda and Peter explore Manhattan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was inspired by struck by lightning (and now our love's been set ablaze) by chalantness, Chapter 19: Peter/Wanda - "I'll still be here when you're ready." I highly recommend that you check it out!
> 
> Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy :)

Chapter Seven: Wanda Maximoff

When I woke up the next morning, the first thing I did was yawn and roll over to see what time it was: 9:35, much later then when I normally wake up. My sheets were still tangled up and my door was open a crack. I sat up, my eyelids still heavy from sleep deprivation, and leaned against my headboard. My nose was still stuffy and my throat was still dry from the emotional chaos last night.

Thinking back to the emotional upheaval I went through last night, everything felt so surreal. The pit of my stomach still hurt every time I thought about the dream or every time I thought about Pietro and what happened to me. The catharsis that took place last night left me feeling suddenly lighter and calmer. Maybe it was because of Steve’s words of wisdom that helped to shed new insight on an otherwise bleak experience. Maybe it was because I was finally starting to understand that Pietro didn’t just die because I screwed up, but he died because I was the most important person to him. I still found myself listening to the little part of my mind that was telling me Pietro died because of my sheer stupidity but it helped nonetheless.

I had a new found respect for Steve, more than what I already had for him. It was beyond that respect that I had for him as someone who was looking out for me. He was an utter gift that I was given, someone who would help stabilize such a chaotic situation. I wasn’t hateful towards Natasha for not joining Steve, either.

I made my bed that morning before walking out into the kitchen where Natasha was sitting in front of the kitchen counter. She had a file open in front of her and she was drinking one of those disgusting green juices that she and Steve insists on having every morning. Natasha looked up. “Are you feeling better?” Natasha asked, ignoring formal greetings. 

I shrugged. “A little.”

“Good,” Natasha said. "Stark brought bagels if you want anyone.”

“What are you reading?” I asked as I cut one of the bagels in half and put it into the toaster.

Natasha gave me a half-hearted smile and said, “A job. I’m supposed to be an interior decorator, you know.”

“You actually have to take jobs?”

“When I’m not watching over you or working with Steve, I’ve got to find something to keep myself busy. Not to mention it would look a little suspicious if I was supposed to be this acclaimed interior decorator but never get jobs. Oh, and Tony and Steve drank all the coffee,” Natasha added when she noticed I was getting myself a ceramic cup from the cabinet.

“Oh,” I said and put the cup back. I picked up my purse and jacket, and took a bit of the bagel I just toasted. “I’ll just run to the café down the street – and yes, I know Clint will be following me. Do you want anything?”

Natasha shook her head and held up the green juice. “I’m good.”

I slammed the door behind me and rushed outside. I was walking to one of the various cafés that Tony recommended for Natasha and me, and the only café that Natasha and I went to together. It was just a block from our apartment. It was affordable (even though I knew my debit card was directly linked to S.H.I.E.L.D.’s bank accounts) and it tasted just like the coffee my mom used to make for my dad. (technically my mother didn’t want me drinking coffee when I was so young but my father always gave me a sip when my mother wasn’t looking). I sighed and bit down on my bottom lip, as though it would be able to force the thoughts of my old life out, and hurriedly rushed into the warm coffeehouse.

It was a cozy little place with a warm-toned color palette: the walls were painted brick red with autumn-colored flower pots on the cherry and round table and vines wrapped around the wall. Various forms of artwork were displayed on shelves. One side of the café was made entirely out of chalkboard where customers could draw pictures and write notes. The types of drinks, daily specials and the food were written on chalkboards, not plastic boards like the local Starbucks. The café smelled of pumpkin bread, fresh coffee beans (naturally) and had a low buzz of chatter. It was mellow and not as overwhelming like the rest of New York, which was why I liked it.

While I waited for my order of an ice coffee to be made, I felt the phone in my pocket buzz. I pulled it out and read the message from Natasha: _did you get there alright?_ I texted her a quick reply before slipping my phone back into my pocket. At that point, the barista behind me yelled my name, and I took my cup, leaving a dollar in the tip jar before looking around for a place to sit. As my eyes drifted from table to table, I saw Clint sitting with a woman with brown curly hair that I didn’t recognize. We made eye contact before he turned away and laughed at something the lady had said.

“Wanda!” Came a familiar voice.

I looked over to see Peter sitting at one of the plush chairs near the windows. He pointed to the one opposite from him. It was nice to see a familiar face. I took my drink and went to go sit with him.

“Hey,” I said, dropping my purse into the chair beside me.

“Hey,” Peter greeted back. “Are you feeling better?”

 _Oh right_ , I thought to myself. _I told him I felt sick at the football game yesterday._

“Oh – yeah. I basically just went straight to bed when I get home,” I said, quickly. “Thanks for covering for me the other day.”

Peter shrugged. “No problem. It’s what friends do. Do you come here a lot? I haven’t seen you here before.”

“I’ve been here one time before with N – my mom. We were recommended this place and we went together. We both really like this place,” I said.

Peter started to look around. “Is your mom here? I’d love to meet her.”

I shook my head. “It’s just me. What about you? Are you here with anyone else?”

Peter shook his head. “Uh no, it’s just me. My uncle and I used to come here before he passed away. I come here whenever I miss him…”

My heart dropped. “I – I’m sorry.” I slung my purse onto my shoulder and picked up my iced coffee. “I can leave if you want. I don’t want to be intrusive–…”

Peter, who was drinking his coffee, shook his head so fast he accidentally spilled his drink. “Shit! I mean – sorry, no. You – stay. That’s not what I meant.” I relaxed and grabbed a few napkins to help him clean up the mess he made. “Sorry, that was a really misleading comment. It’s actually petty nice to have some company. What are you doing today? Just because I thinking,” Peter continued before I actually got the chance to respond, “I could show you around – maybe take you to Central Park if you want me to.”

I hesitated. “Oh. Oh, I don’t–…”

“Go on, Wanda,” I heard Natasha say over comms; I guess she was replacing Stark for the day. “Clint doesn’t have any plans and I don’t think he would mind tailing you.”

I heard the sound of a half-irritated, half-humored chuckle from behind me; out of the corner of my eye, Clint was facing Peter and me. I looked back at Peter and smiled. “I guess I could hang out for a little bit.”

A wide, toothy smile broke across Peter’s face and his eyes lit up. “Awesome!”

He threw away the used napkins into the trashcan, yelled a goodbye to the barista, who waved back politely, and opened the door for me. Immediately, I wished I was back in the café, pleasant smelling and mellow, as opposed to the crowded streets where angry pedestrians pushed past people to get to their destination. It was mild outside, but just cold enough for me to wrap my arms around my thin sweater. I was glad Peter was there with me; he understood the proper etiquette and – as he put it – the mentality necessary for surviving a day in the streets of downtown Manhattan.

What should have been a twenty-minute walk to Central Park turned into nearly an hour one as Peter stopped me at every building to describe something unique about it. He even had a history lesson about one of the supermarkets. He ran to the stand selling newspaper and bought a cookie there, claiming that it was the best cookie in Manhattan. The man at the newspaper stand recognized Peter and the two exchanged a long conversation. Peter introduced me and we spent another five minutes listening to the old man explaining on his family cookie recipe came about. After purchasing the _best cookie in Manhattan_ , Peter broke it in half, immediately gave me the bigger and then kept walking.

For the most part, Peter would fill the conversation up with his incessant rambling. I didn’t mind, though. It felt comfortable and easy for me to listen to him talk about a city that he was clearly so passionate about as opposed to me struggling to find a common ground with him. I enjoyed watching his eyes light up every time he pointed at something he loved.

When we finally reached Central Park, it was already starting to get crowded. Couples, old and young, families, big and small, were running about or lounging lazily on the benches or sitting in the grass. Peter and I stopped in front of the beautiful water feature: the Bethesda Fountain. The statue of the angel on the top of the water fountain was elegant and the way the sun glistened off the water fountain reminded me of sparkling diamonds.

“This place is beautiful,” I said. What I loved more was how _happy_ everyone looked.

“It’s even better in the fall,” Peter said. He took his phone out and snapped a picture. “Go stand by the water fountain.”

“What?” I asked. I looked down at what I was wearing: boyfriend jeans and an old sweater. My hair was slung into a loose ponytail and strands were falling out. My eyes still felt crusty and red from my – well, from what happened last night. “I’m really not in the mood to be taking pictures right now, Peter.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “You look beautiful. Go on! You’re mom will want to see this!”

I flushed red, but he didn’t seem to pay too much attention to what he just said to me. I sighed and went to stand in one of the few open spots in front of the fountain. Peter smiled and held his phone. He snapped a couple of pictures and waved me over so I could look at them. Even though they were taken with an iPhone, they were actually pretty nice: Peter had angled the camera in just the right way so that a ray of sunlight illuminated the side of my face and made my eyes glow.

“You’re really good at taking pictures,” I said.

Peter shrugged. “I got a good model. You knew the best place to stand. I’ll send it to you!” He said, pulling up my contact and sending me the picture. “You wanna go for a walk?”

I nodded. “Is it normally this nice out in September?” I asked as we started walking.

Peter looked up in the sky and shrugged. “Yeah. September weather is pretty nice in New York. But you lived in Oregon so I guess anything that’s dry is good weather.”

I let out a forced chuckle. I have never felt so socially inadequette before. I was talking about the _weather._

“Yeah, it rains a lot in Oregon…”

“Why are you talking about the weather?” I jumped – it was Stark over comms. I thought he was supposed to be with Steve.

I collected myself before Peter could notice my reaction. He had his hands shoved into his pockets and was looking at me with an expression that looked, not bored, but simply comfortable; it was like he didn’t seem to mind how hard it was for me to a hold a conversation with him or that we were comparing weather patterns between two states. _Change the subject,_ I told myself calmly.

“What do you do in your free time?” I asked.

Peter shrugged. “Not much… I’m kind of boring.”

I laughed and said honestly, “You can’t be more boring than me.”

Peter chuckled and started to run his fingers through his hair. “Um, besides taking pictures and skateboarding, I guess I’m kind of a science nerd. You should see my schedule this year! And last year…”

“What’s your favorite class?” I asked.

“Probably AP Physics. I just wrote a paper on the expanding universe that my teacher loved!” Peter continued rambling on about this paper, one that made his eyes go wide with excitement. As much as I wanted to stay engaged with what Peter was saying, it was like listening to Dr. Banner on the first day of school – everything Peter was saying was completely foreign to me. Apparently, I wasn’t that good at hiding my lack of understanding either because Peter quickly said, “I’m boring you, aren’t I?”

“No,” I said quickly as Stark exclaimed, “Yes!” I smiled awkwardly.

“It’s okay,” Peter said. “Sorry. I forget that I can put people to sleep sometimes.”

“No. You weren’t boring–!”

“Don’t lie!”

“I’m not lying!” I said; Peter shot a doubtful look. “Okay, so maybe it was a little boring. But at least you have a passion. I honestly don’t know what I’m doing with my life.”

“What subjects do you like?” Peter asked.

I didn’t answer. “I don’t know.”

Peter chuckled. “ _You don’t know?_ Come on Wanda. There has to be something you enjoy doing. Didn’t you once say you liked your psychology class?”

I laughed and started to nod. “You know me better than I know myself.”

“I just have a good memory. What do you like in psychology?”

“Looking into people’s minds really fascinates me – especially criminals, people who thrive after harming others. I want to know why there are people in the world who don’t realize what their doing is wrong. Or maybe exploring dreams – nightmares mostly. I want to learn about the root of peoples' nightmares,” I said. The words came surprisingly easy for me to tell Peter, but I suppose it was simply because this was my life. I wanted more than anything to know why the Red Skull became the monster he is and why I can’t seem to shake these flashes of memories.

“Well, there you go. See, you’re a science nerd like me. Just not as boring,” Peter said.

I smiled.

“What do your parents do for a living?” Peter asked.

“My mom is an interior decorator and my dad, he’s uh – he’s uh…” I stopped.

“ _Artist!”_ Stark hissed.

It was like a light bulb went off in my head and I quickly said, “Artist. He’s an artist for the _New York Times._ He draws the little comics in the back in the paper – I guess comic isn’t the right word for them. But, that’s what he does. That’s why my family and I moved to New York. Because of my dad’s job… but what about your parents? What do they do for a living?”

Peter’s face faltered. He’s bubbly smile slid off of his face and his gaze averted to the ground; I knew that I said the wrong thing. Peter kicked a rock to the side. “Um, I actually, my parents passed away when I was younger so I live with my aunt. She works at a bank.”

“Oh. What’s she like?” I asked tentatively.

“She’s great. Uncle Ben used to be pretty strict before he – uh – well Aunt May has always been a little more understanding. Anyway, what time is it?” Peter asked. He tore out his phone and looked at the time. My breathing hitched – I couldn’t believe I screwed this up so badly that he was eager to leave after hanging out for a couple of hours.

“What time is it?” I asked, trying to keep my composure.

“About 10:45. You wanna go around the loop, stop at a vendor for lunch and then have a picnic?”

I kept myself from sighing in relief. “Yeah. Let’s do it.”

Peter grinned. I had never fully appreciated Manhattan until I walked around Central Park. My preconceived ideas of New York – overpopulated, polluted, dangerous and altogether a very tough place to live – was a little unfair. Of course, there were some obnoxious people that occasionally cut in front of Peter and me or get a little too close for comfort. Being in such close proximity with strangers made my heart race a little bit faster, but I knew I was safe: Peter slowed down or would lean a little it closer to me – not in a dominant, pushy way; in a casual yet cautious way. Having a gun and seeing Clint pop up every now then helped, also. Other than that, Central Park was as beautiful as Peter claimed it to be. Full-leaved trees loomed over us and branches stretched out, casting shadows across the sidewalk. We stopped at the bridge, where I stood and gazed across at the water with the reflections of the trees, the bridge and the sunlight. I looked at the tops of the buildings peaking over the trees. Manhattan, despite its flaws, despite the fact that it could never replace home, was beautiful.

When it was 11:45, we stopped at one of the vendors a couple minutes away from Central Park. Peter ordered for me, reassuring me that grilled chicken, hummus with pita bread and an extra large soda for us to share would be “like music for the soul”. We found an empty bench where we spread our food out on five of the ten napkins we got. Peter was right: the food was immaculate, much different flavoring and style than how my mother used to prepare chicken. It was nice sitting there with Peter.

Eventually, Peter and I said our goodbyes; his aunt called him wondering why he wasn’t home to fix the dishwasher that he had broken the other night (I could tell he didn't want to share the full story so I didn't bother to ask). He offered to walk me home, though we had to speed walk since his aunt kept calling him to tell him to get home faster. We stopped in front of the apartment complex after I told him repeatedly that he didn’t need to walk all the way upstairs.

“Thanks for showing me around,” I said.

Peter nodded. “Thanks for spending the morning with me. Are you sure you don’t want me to walk you upstairs?” I shook my head. “Okay. Well, I guess, I’ll see you around, Wanda.”

“Yeah. See you, Peter…” I said, smiling as I watched him walk away.

He turned around halfway down the street, waved goodbye and then disappeared behind a sea of people, who were crossing the street. Smiling, I walked upstairs to our apartment where Natasha and Clint were in the living room laughing over an open bottle of wine and some sandwiches. When I closed the door behind me and threw my purse onto the counter, they looked up.

“Well, well, well, thanks to you, I got my exercise for the day,” Clint said. “How far did you and your boyfriend have to walk?”

“Funny,” I said. “Is Steve not home yet?”

“They’re driving back now,” Natasha said.

I sat down in the reclining chair beside Natasha and Clint.

“Hank Pym gave in. He’s tracking down Scott Lang right now. He’ll get us a location by tomorrow,” Natasha said.

I let out a sigh of relief and felt myself slouch into the reclining chair a little bit further. After giving myself a moment of excitement, I straightened myself out and told myself that hope wasn’t an option in this situation. It wasn’t like this was a ticket to my freedom from Hydra. It was simply another attempt to find the Red Skull; I had learned to contain my hope in the last few years. But still, _something_ finally worked out in my favor. We managed to catch a break.

I walked to the window. The sun was shining. The day was bright, and I smiled.


	8. Steve Rogers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve, Natasha and Clint find Scott Lang.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long to update this story! I've been really swamped down with lots of things going on, including work and other such events.
> 
> Either way, here is the chapter! Hope you like it :)

Chapter Eight: Steve Rogers

Waiting for Hank Pym to get us the location on Scott Lang felt like eons. I sketched while I waited, flipped through the _New York Times_ to read the other articles and then tossed it aside when I got bored. After Hank finally agreed to help us find Scott, he had to explain the detail about that shrinking suit he gave Scott. Most of it I didn’t understand, nor did I bother to _try_ to comprehend the science language that Tony was eating up. All I needed to know was that the suit was controlled by a button near Scott’s hand. I hope that Hank would warn Scott that we were coming but a part of me still felt that anyone who’s on the run from dangerous people and using a suit as their last defense from being found wouldn’t go down without a fight.

According to Natasha and Stark, Wanda had spent most of her morning with a boy from school. I wasn’t about to become that overprotective father who intimidates any boy who breathes within a five feet of his daughter – adopted or not. Of course, I wanted to make sure that this boy had Wanda in his best interests but, while I haven’t been on surveillance nearly often enough to study their blossoming relationship, it seemed that Wanda was _comfortable_ , the most comfortable that Natasha has seen her since we’ve met. Stark had already investigated all of Wanda’s new friends and their families, and they were all clear.

I hoped, above all, that Scott Lang would give us anything to help our investigation against Hydra. Natasha and I have been chasing cold lead after cold lead. Either Hydra had led us on a wild goose chase or we would find new evidence or a witness that Hydra would take care of. A few broken bones, a couple of burns and a fire that destroyed my files was the worst Hydra did to me. Natasha didn’t have it so easy: she was escorting a nuclear physicist that worked for Hydra and had information on their weapons. Her tires got shot out and they went over a cliff. She got them out, made it about half a mile away before some faceless Hydra agent shot her asset straight through her. She almost lost her life from blood loss but according to her, losing her ‘bikini body’ was worse. Obviously we haven’t lost to Hydra the way that Wanda has, but it was safe to say that Natasha and I both needed a victory against the Red Skull.

While Hank Pym had promised a location by Sunday, Stark didn’t call me with promising news until late Monday night, after I had tell Wanda almost three times that day that Pym hadn’t called; the disappointed look of her face, though she tried to hide with indifference, was painful to look at. So when Stark contacted me at 11:45 that night, I jumped in excitement.

“Steve, I got the location,” Stark’s voice came from comms, his voice sharp and clear against the silence of the kitchen. “I’m sending the GPS locations to your laptop.”

I grabbed the computer off the living room table and open my computer. A notification appeared in the corner of my computer: the file that Stark sent. I opened it up. I was looking at a blueprint of Brooklyn. The map automatically zoomed in closer to a single street, Dean Street, and then a 3D make up of the street appeared. A dot landed in between a run down pizza place and brick building that was empty and ready to be leased off.

“What am I looking at, Tony?” I asked. “This doesn’t seem like much of anything.”

“Hank Pym told me that there’s a back door in that alley that connects to that pizza parlor,” Tony said. “That’s where Scott’s been hiding. Hank could track Scott there but was never able to send a clear message to Scott – something about comms being off, not that I would ever make such a rookie mistake.”

“Tony,” I interjected.

“I just wanted to warn you and Nat. He’ll probably be wearing his suit so try not to step on him,” Tony said with a slight chuckle.

“Right. Tell Sam that you two are watching Wanda on Sunday,” I said.

“You, Nat and Clint are getting him tomorrow?” Stark asked.

“We have to make sure we get to him _before_ he tries to run away,” I said, writing down the street name and building. “I’m going to head to bed. Make sure Clint gets a 6:00 wake up call tomorrow morning – and that he _actually_ gets up.”

“Will do that,” Tony said.

I rolled my eyes and pulled out the headset that was always attached to my ear. Natasha was already asleep so I quietly changed, set our alarm and slipped into bed. I had difficulty sleeping that night, as I always did before an upcoming mission. I knew that Scott Lang wasn’t a serious threat but the thought of someone being able to change their size made me nervous. I didn’t like fighting an opponent with a talent that I couldn’t quite understand. Even the few hours of sleep that I did get, it wasn’t _good_. It was racked with confusing dreams of bugs and a shrinking man running away from me; I was never quite able to reach it no matter how hard I tried.

I was glad the alarm sounded the next morning. Natasha grumbled in her sleep, and I had to shake her awake to get her up. I explained that we got a location and we were going to pick Lang up. Though she understood that I was waking her up for _our job_ , she grumbled under her breath the entire morning. Clint was in the same condition, if not worse. Other than the blaring alarm that Tony had set up in Clint’s room, Tony also showed up outside of Clint’s door. While I calmly explained to Natasha why she was waking up early, Tony had resorted to nothing short of taunting. The only good thing about seeing Tony this early in the morning, according to Clint and Natasha, was that he had brought them gifts: a custom-made suit for Natasha and a quiver with arrows for Clint. Stark went through how the new, high-tech quiver worked and how Stark had changed the arrowheads so that instead of being sharp enough to kill, it was flat. Similar to Natasha’s Widow Bites, it would send an electric pulse down whoever was on the receiving side of the arrow – not enough to kill, but enough to incapacitate. While Clint and Natasha were both still armed with guns, they both agreed that their weapons of choice were simply more elegant.

Natasha, who finished changing, walked swiftly to where Clint and I were waiting. My mouth dropped open as I got a clearer look at her suit: she was wearing a ridiculously tight, leather black cat suit that looked like it was glued onto her. A utility belt was wrapped around her waist, two sidearms strapped in securely and her electric batons. Around her wrists were black cuffs, evidently where her Widow’s Bites were armed. Her long red hair was pulled back into a high ponytail – at least something about this was outfit made sense. She looked stunning in the outfit, there wasn’t a question about that, but I couldn’t help but be skeptical about the practicality of her uniform. Between her charade and Clint’s stubborn desire to use nothing but bows, I couldn’t help but feel slightly upset toward Stark.

“You two are ridiculous,” I said.

“Says the super soldier who goes by Captain America,” Clint snorted as he admired his new arrow.

“Is that suit even bulletproof?” I asked Natasha, who was readjusting the utility belt around her waist.

Natasha laughed. “Of course it’s bulletproof. Stark’s not an idiot. And who knows? Maybe Stark could make a Star-Spangled Banner suit to go with the name, _Cap_.”

I sighed. These jokes about my nickname in the army were relentless.

“I could make that happen,” Tony said.

“Perhaps he could have made you a tighter suit,” I murmured.

“This allows for maximum movement,” Natasha said. “Which is _imperative_ for my fighting, especially when we’re armed with non-lethals.”

“And what exactly are those two side arms in your utility belt?” Clint asked. “Or are those just decorations?”

“You never know who you’re going to run into,” Natasha said. “How far is Brooklyn from Manhattan?”

“About thirty minutes, which means we need to get going,” I said.

Armed and ready to go, I led Natasha and Clint through one of the tunnels to get to the car that we kept hidden in our underground base (we thought it would be easier to take this route considering that we all looked like we were armed for a war and didn’t want the landlord to question us). Clint hopped in the backseat, Natasha took shotgun and I took the driver’s seat. J.A.RV.I.S., which was also connected the large blue truck that Tony had picked up for us, already programmed in the destination and offered to drive. After the near fiasco that happened when I was driving to Hank Pym’s home yesterday, I was a little more willing to let J.A.R.V.I.S. drive. I briefed Natasha and Clint over the little information that I had on Scott’s suit, both of whom didn’t seem too bothered by the confusing scientific advancement.

“I like a good challenge,” Natasha said as she fiddled with her cuffs.

Thankfully, Dean Street was relatively deserted, relatively meaning that there wasn't a huge line of backed up cars waiting to turn. It was deserted enough for us to find a close parking spot and sneak into the alley undetected. I stood in front of the doorway.

“You think it’s unlocked?” Clint asked.

“Stark, are you reading any one on thermals?” I asked, ignoring Clint. For a second there was silence. “Tony? Tony can you hear me?”

“Sorry, sorry, sorry!” Tony said, quickly. “Trying to get Wanda to leave for school on time isn’t the easiest thing to do! God, imagine if she was actually mine! Okay, okay, thermals are pulled up now.

“How many–,” I started.

“ _Just one._ And a very small one at that,” Tony said.

Clint groaned as he pulled an arrow out of his quiver. “Great. He’s in ant form. Okay, we’ll try not to step on him. What exactly is our plan, anyway?”

“We’ll convince him we’re friendlies and that Hank Pym sent us,” I said.

“If he doesn’t believe us?” Clint asked.

I sighed. “Knock him out and convince him later. Nat, you got the door.”

Natasha nodded. She kicked near the keyhole, the door splintered and clattered to the ground with a bang. Clint, his weapon drawn, burst inside first, followed by Natasha and me. I scanned the room: it looked like a little home, with a small bed, a little bookshelf and a mini fridge. Other than the dirty clothes strewn on the ground and the used plates, there were no signs of a life; the room was empty.

“Stark?” I said, breathlessly. “Where is he?”

“He’s–,” Tony started, his voice full of panic. He never got the chance to finish.

The figure of a man in a ridiculous red and gray suit with a terrifying gas-mask-esque helmet shot upwards – not shot upwards but more _expanded_ into view. As he did, the man flipped over like an acrobat, clipping Clint right in the jaw. All 190 pounds of Clint landed straight on top of me. I lost my balance and collapsed on top of the cracked door. Natasha leapt in front of who I was assumed was Scott Lang.

“Look, I really don’t want to hurt you,” Scott said. “But I have to.”

He threw a punch toward Natasha’s cheek. Smiling, she caught it and uttered, “I wouldn’t stress about it.”

She kicked Scott between the legs hard enough to make Tony groan into our comms. Then, with a click of a button, Scott wasn’t crumbling in front of Natasha anymore. I wasn’t sure where he went until Natasha was flipped over and landed square on her back. Clint and I got to our feet. I scanned the ground for any sign of movement but before either of us could hone in on where Lang was, Clint tumbled over. A second later, something _very_ strong hit me right in the jaw and pushed me onto the ground.

“You guys are getting your ass kicked!” Tony yelled.

Clint and I got to our feet. “You wanna try this?! Where is he?”

“Scott!” I said, my muscles still tense. “We’re not here to hurt you! Hank Pym sent us.” The room is silent for a second and then Scott erupted in front of us, full-sized, looking at Clint and me back and forth. “Scott, we don’t want to arrest you. All we want is to talk.”

He clicked a button on the side of his helmet and the helmet retracted into itself to show Scott’s face. He had a thin, scruffy face with weary lips and tiresome, brown eyes. He shook his head. “There’s no way Hank would have given up my location.”

Scott looked like he was about to shrink himself when suddenly, he started to convulse before falling to the ground. Behind him, Natasha was pointing her fist toward Scott, the cuffs where her Widow Bites were armed glowing.

“Oh!” Stark exclaimed.

Clint raised his eyebrows. “So much for not hurting him.”

“Okay,” I said, breathlessly. “Let’s get him into car.”

Scott was several inches smaller than Clint and me, but where height was lacking, lean muscle made up for it. As Clint pulled Lang into his arms, he grunted and staggered under Lang’s weight. Laughing it off, Natasha insisted in helping Clint, cracking jokes the entire time that we hastily rushed to the truck. There was one curious passerby but I briskly, without making eye contact, gave some bullshit excuse about passing out from alcohol before quickly rushing into truck. The address for the drive home was already programmed into the truck’s GPS and J.A.R.V.I.S. needed no further instruction before he automatically started to the engine and reeled out of the side street where we were parked. Clint kept a watchful eye over Scott’s unconscious body, while we listened to Stark and Natasha banter back and forth about the little scene that we just made in the back room.

Natasha made a call for Hank Pym to update him and Hope on Scott’s current condition. It took nearly ten minutes to calm an outraged Hope when she discovered what Natasha had done to Scott. Reassuring her that many victims of the Widow’s Bite, especially when the amount of electric volts were diminished and far from lethal, Natasha finally convinced Hope and Mr. Pym that Scott would recover fully and show no side effects (besides maybe some shortness of breath and fatigue). When she hung up the phone and informed Fury of our acquisition, she again heard a mouthful for using a Widow’s Bite. I sat in silence, watching the road as J.A.R.V.I.S. drove, and listened to Natasha defend her actions against a man who Natasha cared for like a father.

Natasha and Fury’s relationship was always peculiar to me. From the little information I was given in Natasha’s otherwise mysterious life, I knew that Fury had given Natasha a full pardon and granted her a visa to the United States in promise of joining S.H.I.E.L.D. She got herself on S.H.I.E.L.D.’s radar and instead of enforcing his kill order on her, Fury pulled Natasha out of some dark places, though I had no idea how he managed to get Natasha to trust him. All I knew was that Natasha had a respect for Nick Fury, one that I didn’t share. For me, it was hard to trust Nick Fury, especially since he was nothing short of manipulative. Every mission I went on, especially with Natasha, I felt like I wasn’t being told everything that I needed to know.

To be fair, being kept in the dark comes along with being an agent under Nick Fury. Natasha, Clint and I were well aware that Fury wasn’t sharing the full case file with us. He knew who the insider at Hydra was. I didn’t.

After almost an hour of excruciating traffic, J.A.R.V.I.S. finally pulled the truck into the underground compartment where our safe room was. The car was automatically put into park. Natasha swung her legs out of the passenger seat and landed softly onto the cement beneath her. She pulled the door open to the back seat, took Scott Lang’s legs and pulled him out with Clint’s help. I rushed to get the door for Natasha and Clint and then followed them into the open training room. I directed them to one of the spare bedrooms where we would keep Scott until he woke up. It was a rather bland bedroom, nothing beyond a little beside table with a small lamp and then a bed but it served its purpose for an emergency living quarter in case the apartment would be compromised. Though it looked ordinary, the door was built to withstand heavy fire – designed by Tony Stark.

“How long until he wakes up?” I asked Natasha.

“Give him an hour, I’d say,” Natasha said, stretching out her arms and shoulders and leaning against the doorway. “But if you really want to wake him up, I can always get a bucket of cold water and pour it on him. That just didn’t seem like your style.”

“Should someone get that suit off of him?” Clint asked.

“Thanks for volunteering,” I said, and held open the door for Clint.

Clint muttered a string of curse words under his breath but didn’t object. Since neither of us knew how long it would be until Scott wakes up, we settled into the open living space. Natasha opened up her laptop and put the video feed of Scott Lang’s room on the monitor; Lang’s mouth was wide open and he was lying on the bed in an awkward position. I knew he wasn’t dead, though, which was something I had to admit I was afraid of: his chest was rising and falling, a clear indication of drawing breathe in his sleep. More relaxed than I was on the way here, I leaned against the wall, eyeing the monitor. I pulled open one of the drawers where we kept our spare change of clothes and handed outfits to Natasha and Clint. As would be expected, Natasha was given the bathroom to change out of that ridiculous outfit while Clint, who had returned from the bedroom with Scott’s uniform in hand, and I changed here. I was glad to peel off my sweaty white shirt and put on a blue button up shirt, as was Clint and Natasha who were both eager to get out of their uniforms.

“Do you think I should try it?” Clint asked when Natasha returned from the bathroom sporting tight blue jeans and a leather jacket that cut off right above the thinnest part of her already unbelievably small waist.

“You couldn’t pull that off,” Natasha said, laughing. She tossed her jacket onto the fridge where she pulled out the ice tray. Clint tossed her a couple of zip loc bags where she divvyed out some ice and handed a bag to Clint and me.

The way Natasha seemed so relaxed with Clint almost made me jealous. It was like there was no barrier of lies and false lives separating the two of them as there was with me and any one of my partners, besides maybe Tony. Watching their friendship, how _simple_ it looked, made my heart ache with the thought of Bucky, who I couldn’t help but think of more recently. I smiled when I thought about all the times we would wrestle each other to the ground during high school while we were supposed to be working. Our friendship was impervious. There was nothing that could tear Bucky and me apart.

Except for the train that one fateful day in Afghanistan…

When Clint and Natasha got tired, they pulled out some water and some of the food that they had stored in the fridge. I listened to Natasha and Clint bantering back and forth, sometimes Tony, who clearly seemed bored over comms, adding a few jokes here and there wherever appropriate. I just preferred to take in what they were saying. And when lunch was over, Clint was sent to relieve Sam of watching Wanda for the time period (as Sam apparently had to go to some conference for his day job at Manhattan Academy). It was just Natasha and me left but before we had to find a way to busy ourselves, we heard mumbling coming from Scott Lang. We watched the computer monitor for a couple minutes later until it was clear that Lang was starting to stir awake. We unlocked the door to his room and stepped inside. His eyes slowly fluttered open and, as he realized that he wasn’t where he thought he was, Scott jerked upwards.

“WHAT THE–!” He yelled. When he got a clear look at Natasha and me, recognizing that we were the people who put him here, he forced himself backwards, pressing his back sharply against the wall. “Where the hell am I? How did you find me? What do you guys want?”

Natasha pulled out a cell phone from her pocket, pressed something in her phone and handed it to Scott. Scott didn’t take it right away and instead looked at it for a long second. “What is this?”

“It’s for you,” Natasha said.

Scott’s eyes narrowed. He looked skeptically at Natasha and then at me and then back at Natasha before finally pressing the phone to his ear. “Hello? Who is–? Hank? What’s going….” Scott trailed off and listened for a long second. He looked at Natasha and me, a look of shock on his face. His expression shifted from shock to disbelief, and he snorted. “Seriously? These two? I mean, yeah they know how to throw a few punches but _federal agents?!”_ He looked frustrated now. “Help them? She zapped me in the neck! I don’t think they’re – but… _FINE!”_

Scott slammed the phone shut and handed it back to Natasha, who had a pleased look on her face. She put the phone back into her pocket.

“You could have just said that Hank Pym sent you,” Scott mumbled.

I smiled. “We were trying to say that but it was kind of hard between you shrinking every five seconds and attacking us. You know, you aren’t too bad with that suit.”

Scott shrugged, a smile tugging at the edges of his lips. “Coming from a guy your size, I’m taking that as a huge compliment.” I couldn’t help but chuckle until suddenly I came to my senses. The levity evaporated quickly and Scott said, “Hank told me you guys needed my help. So, uh, what can I do for you two strapping federal agents? Lemme guess, CIA?”

I didn’t answer that and said, “My name’s Steve Rogers. My partner’s name is Natasha Romanoff. We just have a couple of questions for you about an organization that you conned.”

What used to be a more neutral face quickly turned into a very stern and defensive expression on Scott’s face as I mentioned the word _conned_. Perhaps it was the light emphasis that I put on the word as opposed to everything else or my tone of voice that sparked this reaction but I couldn’t help myself. Breaking the rules, taking advantage of other people was something that should be punished. Of course, it wasn’t like Hydra didn’t deserve worse things but, looking at Scott’s previous rap sheet, I knew there were people that he robbed that maybe didn’t deserve something like that to happen to them.

“Oh – I thought you said you wanted _my help_ ,” Scott said, clearly taken aback.

I swallowed my own emotions and said, “We do. We need all the information that you have on an organization called Hydra.”

Apparently, I struck another soft spot because Scott’s features shifted into a state of hysteria and panic. His eyes grew wide, his eyebrows lifted and his mouth opened in disbelief. A few wrinkles sprung out as Scott’s expression of terror prevailed. “HYDRA?!” Scott managed through clenched teeth. “I know I never told Hank this so you probably don’t know but I’m sure you guys are pretty smart – I mean, you’re _federal agents._ You two should know that leaking information on Hydra gets you killed! For god’s sake, I’m on the run from Hydra and you’re trying to drag me out into the light!”

“If you tell us what we want, we’ll offer you the best protection out there for you,” Natasha said, her arms folded, her eyes taking in every little detail about Scott.

“For me?” Scott gasped, as if dumbfounded by what Natasha and I were saying. He jumped up from the bed, nearly tripping over the bed sheets. I noticed out of the corner of my eye, Natasha instinctively reached for the sidearm hidden underneath her jacket; I tried to keep myself level though my heart rate briefly spiked. “FOR ME?! The only thing I care about right now is protecting my daughter. If Hydra gets a hold of her–.”

“We can offer protection for your entire family,” I said, squaring myself up to face Scott. “You, your daughter, and even Hank Pym and Hope can disappear off the grid. You can go anywhere, any place that you’ve ever wanted.”

Scott’s face softened as he thought about my offer. He took a deep breath and sat back down on his bed. “Do I at least get to keep the suit?”

“NO!” Came Stark’s voice over comms, which echoed in the bedroom.

Scott jumped. “Who was that?”

I sighed. “Tony Stark. He’s – he’s helping us.”

Apparently the mutual sense of dislike between Hank Pym and Tony continued through Scott as he let out a feigned gasp and said, “Stark?! Stark has the suit?”

Natasha shook her head. “Relax. The third person that was there this morning brought it out to the other room. Tony won’t get to touch it.”

Scott sighed in relief. “Well, good because Hank Pym gave me specific instructions to–…”

“NEVER TRUST A STARK. WE KNOW!” Tony yelled over comms.

“Tony, can you leave us alone for a couple of minutes? We’ve got business to attend to,” Natasha said. While her voice was gentle, neither Stark nor I were stupid enough to think that she was genuinely being kind.

“Okay, I’ll just be sitting here, pretending like I don’t exist,” Stark said.

Scott looked around with incredulity. “He just quoted Harry Potter.”

I ignored them. “Why don’t we focus?”

Scott nodded, his lips formed into a thin line. “I don’t know… You’re asking me to risk my family’s life and I know you don’t know me that great but nothing is more important to me than my family.”

“Scott, this is the best option you have,” Natasha warned.

I could see the concentration of Scott’s face: the way his eyebrows furrowed and the way his bottom lip quivered as he stared at Natasha and me. Finally, he sighed. “Okay, okay. If I tell you, you have to promise that Hope, Hank, Cassie and I will all be safe – and my ex-wife. I mean, I know she’s married to some cop but…”

“We’ll keep someone posted at her house until this blows over,” Natasha promised.

Scott nodded, quickly. “Okay. What do you want to know?”

“We want to know what you took from Hydra,” I commanded.

“Uh, okay,” Scott muttered. He scratched his forehead. “Not going to lie, I took quite a bit. To be honest, it was one of my more impressive cons. I convinced these dumb Hydra agents that they were buying a multimillion-dollar corporation so they transferred a ton of money to a _very secret_ security deposit, and then when I get into their headquarters, I robbed them blind. Took some cool paintings, stuff like that.”

“Impressive,” Natasha said. “Not many people can rob Hydra blind and live to tell the tale, to two federal agents no less.”

“I didn’t know it was Hydra until a couple weeks after when they showed up at my house. From what I learned while scoping out the place with my team, they seemed like a corrupt business who earned most of their money from underground gambling – things like that. I didn’t think I was going to be hurting anyone that didn’t deserve to be hurt – and I definitely didn’t think that these people I was robbing would put out a kill order on me,” Scott said.

“You said they showed up at your house?” I asked.

“Yeah. Thankfully, Hank gave me his suit and I managed to escape,” Scott said. “Do I get to keep the suit when you put me somewhere _exotic_?”

I ignored him. “Do you think you could identify some of the men that came to your home?”

Scott nodded. “Those are some faces I never forget. I worked with most of those guys as well. One was pretty big. Thin reddish blonde hair. Beard. Mustache. Thick accent. I’m pretty sure he was French.”

I looked over Natasha and she understood exactly what I was thinking. She left the bedroom and returned a moment later with a thick black blinder filled with the faces of all known Hydra agents. She flipped a few pages until she found the one that matched the description Scott gave. She pushed the picture toward Scott. “This the man you worked with?”

Scott nodded. “Yeah, that’s him.”

“Georges Batroc,” Natasha said to me. “Stark you got that?”

“Yeah. Sending the picture to the others,” Tony said.

“Was that the only person you worked with?” I asked. I pushed the book toward Scott. “You can look through these if you want.”

“No – no, that was the only person who’s face I saw. The others always wore a mask…but, uh, Batroc kept on mention this one name. It wasn’t exactly a name, though. It was just a really weird word,” Scott said, shaking his head.

“What was it?” Natasha asked.

Scott pursed his lips, “Ultron, I think.”

She looked over at me. Her wide eyes and furrowed brows clearly suggested that she was thinking something very similar to me. “Who the hell is Ultron?”

I shook my head. “Stark?”

“Running the name through J.A.R.V.I.S. right,” Stark said, hastily.

I turned back to Scott. “Do you have any idea why this Ultron was there?”

“Not sure, but every time that bald guy – Batroc you said his name was? – mentioned Ultron, Batroc would get really nervous and really angry,” Scott said. “Things probably aren’t going so great for him after I ripped them off.”

“When was this?” I asked.

“Uh, I think I conned them beginning of August,” Scott said.

“That was before we left for New York,” Natasha reasoned. “Maybe it was just a really bad coincidence. We should run through it Fury before we decide to do anything else – at least investigate this lead a little bit.” When I didn’t answer back, Natasha turned to Scott. “We’ve been trying to crack Hydra security for months. How’d a crook like you manage to do that?”

“Easy,” Scott smirked. “I didn’t need to crack anything. They _invited_ me.”

“Please tell me you remember where that place is,” Natasha said.

Scott diverted his gaze to the ground, and I felt my heart sunk into my chest. “Well, Hydra was dumb enough to let me con them but they aren’t dumb enough to tell me the exact location of their headquarters. They picked me up at a deserted telephone pole somewhere in Queens, put me in the back of a CRV and blindfolded me. When I got out of the car, they walked me into this building, took down me a couple flights of the stairs and when they took the blindfold off, there I was standing in the middle of an underground casino. I won’t go into details about what I saw – I think I’m trying to block out disturbing images.”

“Stark do you think you can try to narrow down any possible locations if you get the right information?” I asked, my mind racing. This had to work.

“Probably. Why don’t I come down there and work with Lang for a little bit?” Stark offered.

“That could work,” Natasha asked.

“How do you think it could take?”

“To check a bunch of different locations?” Stark asked, incredulously. “It could take a while.”

“How long?” I asked.

Stark sighed, “Anywhere between a few days to a couple of weeks.”


	9. Wanda Maximoff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wanda and Peter deal with the repercussions of getting in a fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! This chapter is pretty long but there was a lot of stuff that I wanted to include. Hope you enjoy it :)

Chapter Nine: Wanda Maximoff

That day of school was the longest yet. When I woke up, Steve and Natasha were already gone, and Sam was there waiting for me with breakfast ready, explaining to me that Hank Pym finally pulled through and gave us that location on Scott Lang. Our luck never pulled through but I couldn’t help but feel excited. The meeting with Hank Pym seemed to be a success and I couldn’t help but dream that finding this Scott Lang would bring about the same result. I could only imagine how absolutely fantastic it would be to hear that Lang gave Natasha and Steve information that could finally lead S.H.I.E.L.D. to the Red Skull, that could liberate me of running. My heart soared with the thought of finally being able to go to school or to live a life without having to look over my shoulder every single minute.

I knew that getting my hopes up, though, was the worse thing that I could do, and so, as I sat down besides Sam to eat breakfast, I tried my hardest to keep my emotions in check. Sam cracked a few jokes, though it was still awkward between us: other than the times that we drove together to school, I never really saw Sam. He was easy to keep a conversation with, though, as he managed to never make anything too serious and he was quite perceptive when he knew I wanted to change the topic or when something was difficult for me to talk about. Him being the counselor at high school made things easier, especially when we both knew the same names of students we didn’t like. We continued our conversation of staff members, whom he raved specifically about Principal Hill and Dr. Banner, during the car ride to Manhattan Academy.

But then Sam and I parted ways: he went to his office and I went to my first class, where I slumped into my desk chair and failed miserably to keep myself awake. English was especially brutal as it was first period and our teacher lectured at us about the book we reading in class. The following classes – Marketing and Psychology – were just as miserable. Both of my teachers for those two classes hated the overhead lights and preferred to use small lamps that casted as minimal of light that you needed to see in a classroom. Thus, with them yammering on about something that I didn’t really care about, and the fact that my mind was lingering to any scrap of good news from Steve or Natasha, I had a very difficult time paying attention. Even Michelle, who I sat next to in Psychology, pointed out after class was let out that I didn’t seem right. Shaking her off, I went to my locker to get my books, said my goodbye to Peter, and then quickly rushed off, thankful that I had a free period that day.

Sam had some meeting to go to (about which he complained for most of the drive to school) so Clint was picking me up from school in that massive blue truck that Stark had loaned for Natasha and Steve to use whenever necessary. I had never been in it before and I smelled clean leather; music was blaring on the stereo. Clint was leaning against the chair and looked as though he was half asleep. Thankfully, Clint wasn’t driving in his current state of fatigue, which I realized quickly as we started to leave the parking lot without Clint actually pressing on the gas.

“How was school?” He asked.

I shrugged. “Fine. Where’re Steve and Natasha?”

“They’re still talking with Scott Lang,” Clint said. “Tic Tac wasn’t quite aware that we were coming over. Nat knocked him out with one of her little electric _things_. They told me to keep watch on you while Sam went to that meeting.”

“Have they gotten anything good from him?” I asked, trying to keep my voice level.

“Wouldn’t know yet. The only person listening in on comms is Stark,” Clint said. “Some bullshit about giving Lang privacy – not that a convict really needs that anyway. So was your third period as boring as it sounded?”

We spent the rest of the car ride home exchanging small talk about school until I finally had the nerve to ask about Scott Lang. I wanted to so desperately know about the man that managed to trick Hydra the way that he had. Clint went into detail about the fight between him, Natasha and Steve against Scott Lang, and how Lang embarrassed them miserably. I was absolutely intrigued with the thought of a suit that could shrink people, and I also wondered if Hank Pym would be willing to make me one. I couldn’t help but daydream about how amazing it would be to know that Hydra would never be able to find me – but what life would that be like? Being an ant all the time? What if someone stepped on me?

He continued reliving the fight all the way up to the apartment and for a good ten minutes after we got home. Once inside, Clint helped himself to our fridge. He washed a bowl of grapes, poured himself a glass of water and settled on the couch where he turned on some show about golfing. I had no interest so I pulled out my homework and sat at the kitchen counter. I tried to get myself through my statistics and English homework but I couldn’t focus for more than a couple of minutes without quickly bored. I watched the clock for what felt like eons until I got bored and went to join Clint. Trying to watch a tournament about golf was an even worse way to the pass time. My mind drifted, my eyelids started to grow heavy and I nearly fell asleep until –

The door swung open and footsteps filled the apartment. I nearly jumped off the couch just as Natasha and Steve entered, both looking exhausted and in need of a long nap. Natasha, ignoring any pleasantries, pulled open the fridge, scanned the drawers and shelves and then closed it, looking unhappy. Steve slumped into a chair in the kitchen table where I went to join him. I tried to get a read on Steve’s face but he looked so downright fatigued that I couldn’t get much of anything else.

“What did Scott Lang give you?” I asked, my heart thumping. _Stay calm,_ I kept reminding myself. _Don’t get your hopes up._ “Was he helpful?”

Steve sighed. He rubbed his temples together. “He gave us a limited amount of information.”

“Such as?” I asked, prompting Steve to continue.

He hesitated and I felt my stomach twist into knots; he looked worried about sharing this information with me. “He gave us a name – Georges Batroc. I don’t know if you–…”

I shook my head. “Doesn’t sound familiar.”

“Batroc apparently runs some underground casino or something like that – I doubt he’s all that important to the Red Skull if that’s what he’s doing,” Steve sighed. “He was a nightmare a while back for the French government, though – that’s how S.H.I.E.L.D. had him in his data base. Just recently we were able to tie him to Hydra. Either way, we think Batroc is somewhere here in New York – not because of you from what we know. There’s another man, Ultron. I know you said you only know those three men but does that name sound at all familiar to you?”

I thought about it. There were a lot of names and faces of Hydra agents that I had only met once. Anyone that was of any significance to Pietro or me I remembered but this name I didn’t recognize. I shook my head.

Steve bit his lower lip, “Damn.”

“Was that all you got?” I asked.

Steve’s eyes dropped – another bad sign. “Lang told us that Hydra took him to this underground location that Batroc runs. Unfortunately, Scott was blindfolded and can’t tell us the exact location.” While I tried to mask my disappointment, I felt suddenly cold and my entire body slumped into the kitchen chair. Correctly able to analyze my emotions, Steve quickly said, “What he did give us was his starting location, a rough estimate of how long he was driving to this base, scents, sounds – things like that. He and a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent are working on trying to narrow down any possibilities as we speak.”

“So there’s a chance we might be able to find it?” I asked, my eyes widening.

“I don’t want to get your hopes up, Wanda…” Steve said, quietly. “But it’s a possibility. These things take time, though.”

I nodded. Waiting was something that I understand – it came naturally to me. “Of course. Just out of curiosity, why isn’t Stark trying to find the base with Scott?”

Judging on Steve’s reaction – a sudden malice in his eyes, thin lips and furrowed brows – I knew that I had struck a nerve. “Stark _was_ working with Scott until Fury pulled us from helping out.”

“Why?”

He sighed. “I suppose Fury makes sense with his reasoning, as frustrating as it may be for us to be sidelined on our own case. Fury thinks that if Hydra were to get word that Tony Stark is trying to find their hidden base in New York, and if Natasha, Clint, Sam or myself are investigating possible leads, it’ll compromise our cover. So, we’re going to be kept in the dark until we get a _very_ concrete lead with an even more infallible plan.”

“Okay,” I said, quietly.

While I was okay with waiting (it was something with which I was painfully familiar), I absolutely hated the prospect of being ignorant to the situation. There wasn’t much I could do, though. I knew that Steve was never quite on page with what Nick Fury said, but I also knew that it was against Steve’s moral code to go against his superiors’ orders. That night at dinner, Clint, Stark and Sam cane over so that Steve and Natasha could update them on the new information about Scott Lang. There was a mutual understanding, though, that no one would go against what Fury said, as we all knew that Fury – for once – was right in keeping secrets. Stark, who, out of all of us, had the hardest time keeping his nose out of things, promised that for my sake he would listen to Nick Fury. They all knew if our covers were compromised, I would most likely get reassigned to different agents, relocated, given a new identity and have to start this painful process once again.

It went unsaid that our feelings toward Nick Fury (besides Natasha) were less than positive. When I first met Nick Fury, I could understand why he was the leader of an intelligence agency like S.H.I.E.L.D. He spoke in riddles, everything he said, every look or gesture he made, had a double meaning, all of which was to serve his own agenda. Beyond the disgusting words he uttered about my brother and me when I was in the back of that SUV pretending to be asleep, his attitude about whether I lived or not were far from welcoming. He ordered Steve and Natasha to watch me in that dark room. I understood that he based my worth on the value of my testimony against Hydra and that, as soon as I stop serving my purpose of taking down Hydra, I was to be abandoned and forgotten.

Words couldn’t express my appreciation toward Natasha, Steve, Clint, Sam and Tony but as for the rest of S.H.I.E.L.D., I wasn’t sure how they were helping me – or if they even wanted to help me. I decided not to think of that, though. I just hoped that whoever was working with Scott Lang was trying his or her hardest to find this location.

It was hard to keep confident in S.H.I.E.L.D.’s ability to find this Hydra base. Time passed like a snail trying to move across a yard of cement. At first, the following few days weren’t that hard to get through. Natasha and Clint, who both seemed to be getting bored with doing nothing, advised me over comms every single day, cracking jokes and making fun of lessons; they seemed to particularly enjoy making comments about my psychology teacher, who, for some reason, they did not like. Steve focused on his drawings for the _New York Times_ , which I really did enjoy. He was unbelievably talented, and the drawings were more than relatable on a number of levels. Sam actually appeared to love counseling, and more and more often during school, I heard people raving about him. But as a couple weeks passed, time started to drag on. Even Stark, who always kept himself busy with keeping me company or working on blueprints or doing _something_ in Stark Industries, was rapidly losing interest. When Natasha started to get more jobs as an interior decorator, she put even more enthusiasm into her work. I absolutely loved going to her open houses. Even if she had help from S.H.I.E.L.D., it appeared that she was incredibly talented.

To keep myself busy, I threw myself into school with more passion and fervor than I had expected. I was eager to get homework assignments, as I knew that I could spend long hours achieving mastery on the confusing topics that classes were covering. My apparent growing excitement for my education showed in the progress reports that showed up in Natasha and Steve’s emails. They printed it out and posted it on the fridge where I heard jokes about it on more than one occasion. Refusing to get a tutor in statistics and AP Biology, both subjects that proved surprisingly difficult, I was persistent. It became routine for me to get coffee from the café near my apartment and go to the library where I would settle into a little corner near the window and do my homework (Clint was somehow always there reading books when I was studying). When I had my first test in AP Statistics, I was elated when I got an 89%. Yearbook quickly became my favorite class, not just because I had it with Peter, Michelle and Ned. The class allowed me to meet new people as I was a writer and I had to ask a multitude of people questions about themselves. Watching my and Peter’s hard work, as we were always assigned the same pages, slowly being crafted into beautifully designed pages was simply rewarding.

Beyond just schoolwork, I made sure that I was social with my new friends. Of course we went to the football games, not just because we were in yearbook. Normally, Peter would buzz in to our apartment and I would run outside to meet him. We would walk to the little restaurant where Michelle and Ned would met us, laughing over silly jokes and stories of which Peter had an endless amount. Even when Peter wasn’t taking pictures for yearbook, he was always snapping photos, especially when I wasn’t looking, claiming that candid pictures were accurate pictures. While football games truly were all the hype, I tried to support other sporting events beyond just football. I dragged Peter to a few soccer games with me, which I enjoyed the most because it was one of the few sporting events with which I was most familiar. Michelle enjoyed watching volleyball games and Ned simply loved hanging out with us. Of course, school came first – something that Steve surprisingly found himself reminding me of – and so we also did our homework together.

School quickly became a way for me to escape my thoughts, but I was constantly worried about another flashback, like the one that happened at the football game the first week of school. According to what Sam told me, anything could trigger a flashback and I was always worried that it was going to happen at the wrong moment at the wrong time. But, thankfully, it didn’t happen again – at least not for the few weeks that passed while we were waiting for any sort of good news.  Dreams, or more of nightmares, weren’t as bad either. Every now and then, I would see Pietro’s face or Strucker’s or Rumlow’s. If something particularly horrible did come to me, I wouldn’t wake up in a sheet a sweat with tears streaming down my face. My breathing was heavy and my legs were shaking but it was nothing more than just that. I never told Steve or Natasha; there was no need to worry them.

I tried to make sure that I was the only person who knew I had a difficult night. Of course, Sam, always perceptive, would notice when the bags under my eyes were more prominent. He would ask a few questions, pressure me into answering them, give some clichéd VA response and then move on. To my disdain, Sam wasn’t the only observant person. Peter noticed when I was yawning more or when my eyelids were drooping during classes that I normally had no difficulty staying awake in. At first, he joked that I needed to stop drinking coffee at 2:00, but as time went on, he grew more concerned. It wasn’t just the lack of sleeping that he noticed. The blank stares where I was sometimes consumed with the thought about what S.H.I.E.L.D. was doing, the pained looks on my face every time something someone pointed out reminded me of home, he seemed to notice all of it. While I shook off most of his questions, his concern made me feel warm inside.

The weather cooled down to where shorts and sandals were replaced with jeans and boots. What used to be outfits with no coats quickly turned into sweaters and iced coffee became lattes as September passed and October set in. As I looked back at the previous few weeks, I realized that I had grown more than I expected. Close and personal relationships were new to me. Friends and social life were new to me. Growing up on the streets, living in fear, it all taught me to trust no one beyond my brother. Putting up what I thought were indestructible walls and defenses around me was more than natural and the fact that I was hiding who I was made it all the more difficult to let Peter, Michelle and Ned in. But I quickly realized that I loved my new friends. I loved the strength and independence Michelle had, the open-minded Ned and especially Peter, whose every move it seemed was make sure that he and everyone he loved was happy. His playful nudges goodbye quickly turned into friendly hugs. My heart skipped a beat every time he got a little closer, my breathing hitched. It was hard at first, but it got easier. Now, every time I felt his arms wrap around me and I could smell his musky, ocean-scented cologne, it felt _right_.

“What’s going with you two?” Natasha asked the second week into October; it was a Wednesday night. I had finished my homework and Steve was still at work. We were lounging on the couch lazily eating take out and binge watching old _the Bachelor_ episodes. We did this every now and then, when there was nothing better to do. It was like having a normal relationship with a normal older sister.

I shrugged. “We’re just friends.”

“Good friends,” Natasha said.

“ _Just_ friends,” I added.

“He’s a little like Steve now that I think about it,” Natasha said.

“How so?”

“Steve once told me that he had a no tolerance policy for bullies. From what I’ve heard, Peter seems to be the same,” Natasha said, her voice indifferent.

Thinking about it, Natasha was correct. Peter proved this quickly whenever Flash Thompson was around. The worst Flash did to Peter, Michelle and Ned was poke fun at them, sometimes knock over their books or throw a basketball at Michelle’s head when she wasn’t looking. Peter would snap back, throw the basketball down the hall, little things like that. But if Flash ever went after someone else, Peter was one of the first people to speak up. Normally things died down before they became serious. The worst that happened was that Peter and Flash got into each other’s faces, shouting so loudly that they attracted the attention of Sam, who – Michelle pointed out – always seemed to be around whenever there was trouble.

The only time an altercation between Flash and Peter escalated beyond loud words and a few people turning to snicker happened the second Thursday of October. I started the morning off on a bad note: Steve had gotten a call from Nick Fury and every plausible location they checked has failed. The idea that the information Scott Lang gave us would eventually turn into a solid lead was becoming more and more unlikely. I had forgotten there was a vocabulary quiz in AP Biology and cramming right before was fruitless as I was confident that I failed the quiz. In Statistics, I left my homework at home. It was just three points but it was enough to get me riled up. AP Government was a drag since my teacher wasn’t there and we were stuck watching some boring movie. It was one awful thing after another and so when the bell rung, I was happy to go to lunch.

Today was warmer than usual so we decided to eat out back. Outside of the cafeteria, the common area where trees and hedges were planted after the school board persisted that Manhattan Academy try to be more green, had small circular tables and benches. We were about to settle into one of the circular tables when someone came running forward and knocked into my shoulder. If it weren’t for Peter standing there to catch my fall, I would have tripped over the side of the table.

“Hey!” He shouted after the figure racing past us, but that person never looked back.

“What’s going on?” I asked, pulling the strap of my bag back onto my shoulder.

“Dunno,” Peter said. He grabbed my arm. “Come on. Let’s find out.”

We started following the students running forward in packs. We stopped short as we saw students huddled in a large circle around something in the middle of the common area. I couldn’t quite see what they were watching but some were laughing, others holding up their phones to videotape or take pictures of whatever was happening and some looking simply dumbfounded at the sight. A little voice in my head was telling me to just walk away and for a second, I was tempted to listen to that voice but, as I saw Peter make his way to the crowd, I followed him without hesitation. I grabbed onto his shoulder and helped him push our way to the front where I was horrified by the sight. Flash Thompson, the boy Peter loathed to the core, was holding a smaller boy, one that looked simply too young to be a freshman, by the scruff of his neck. Every time that little boy would try to push himself free, Flash would shake him back and forth. Flash’s friends were standing behind him, roaring with laughter and egging Flash on. The fact that everyone in this circle could just stand by, taking pictures as if this was a play, sickened me.

Apparently, it disgusted Peter, too. He dropped his backpack to the ground and lunged toward Flash Thompson and the boy. Though Flash was much bigger, Peter had the element of surprise on his side. He pried the boy off of Flash, who, once free, dispersed. Peter turned to Flash and pushed him a couple steps backwards. The crowd ooed and some people shouted “fight”, which quickly echoed throughout the rest of the bystanders. Flash laughed and cracked his neck. Though Peter was faster than Flash, Flash was utterly bigger than him. Flash clocked Peter straight in the jaw and he stumbled backwards.

Flash pulled Peter back toward him by the scruffs of Peter’s shirt. He punched Peter again. I couldn’t stand there and watch anymore. I lunged forward.

“No, Wanda! Bad idea! I wouldn’t-,” Stark started.

I ignored him; I hadn’t had a chance to see how good I was at the hand-to-hand combat training that Natasha, Steve and Clint had so diligently taught me. I balled up my fist and sucker punched Flash with all the strength I could muster directly in his nose. He stumbled backwards, bewildered. When he got a better look at who attacked him, he laughed.

“You know,” he said, advancing onto me. “I really don’t want to hurt a girl.”

Cliché line.

I kicked him right between his legs; I heard Stark groan at the sight. Flash stumbled, his face went red, his eyes watering with pain. He swallowed hard and got to his feet. He tried to punch me but he was so off balance that I easily caught his fist, twisted him around and slammed his face into one the tables. Flash’s body crumbled and he laid there, at my own mercy. When I knew that Flash had had enough, I let him go, pushing him onto the ground. His friends quickly pulled Flash to his feet.

It wasn’t satisfaction that I felt with myself looking down at Flash. It was anger, like I was taking out my frustration with Fury and all the dead ends, out on this high school boy who was nothing more than a bully. Flash was an outlet for me. I felt powerful looking down at the Flash, power that I hadn’t felt in what seemed like years.

“You’re – you’re fucking crazy!” Flash yelled, rubbing his jaw.

I ignored him and went to Peter’s side. Peter was still lying on the ground but his lips were parted slightly in awe, his eyes wide. His lip was busted and blood was oozing down the side of his face but he was still smiling. “Whoa that was awesome,” he said. He pressed his fingers to the side of his face where he was punched. “That hurt, though. That – oh shit.”

His eyes were trained on something that I couldn’t see over the crowd of people, though all the students quickly dispersed and began running in different directions. Approaching us was Principal Hill; trailing behind her was Sam, who I could tell was nothing short of impressive. Though I had little interaction with Principal Hill other than the meeting on the first day of school, she was loved by almost everyone at Manhattan Academy. I wasn’t sure if it was because of her ability to connect with a variety of different students or if it was the fact that she was strikingly powerful and her appearance was nothing short of perfection. But now, her face was twisted into anger – anger that I had yet to see from any of the staff members at Manhattan Academy. She stood before Peter and me, looming above us.

“I think we best continue this in my office, yes?” Principal Hill said. Without taking her eyes off of us, she added, “And you too Mr. Thompson.”

Sighing, I helped Peter off the ground as Flash limped across the courtyard to where Principal Hill and Sam were waiting. We walked in silence toward the principal’s office, which felt like miles away. It was still lunch and news about the fight traveled quickly: every turn we made, people were staring, pointing and whispering something behind our back. I dropped my gaze to the ground, my cheeks flushed red; I knew that Natasha and Steve were going to be furious. Drawing attention to myself was the worst thing that I could in this situation, yet here I was, being marched to the principal’s office for beating up one of the biggest guys in the school.

When we reached the main office where the principal’s office was, Principal Hill turned to the three of us. “Mr. Thompson, Mr. Parker, why don’t you two go to the nurse’s office and get some ice. Ms. Maximoff, since you seem to be the only person who isn’t – well, beat up – I can speak to you and _your parents_ first,” Principal Hill said. Peter gave me an apologetic look before turning on his heels and walking in the opposite direction while I followed Principal Hill and Sam into his office.

“Mr. Wilson, would you mind calling Wanda’s parents?” Principal Hill said, gesturing toward the phone near on the desk.

Sam’s face was serious. “Of course not. Ms. Maximoff, may I have your parents number?” He said.

I nodded. I slowly repeated the number for Natasha’s phone, my face flushing red when I couldn’t remember the last number of her cell. Stark fed the last digit, seven, and Sam, the hint of a smile on his face, proceeded to call. Principal Hill sat there for a very long moment while we watched Sam. “Hello, is this Wanda Maximoff’s mother? Yes, hello. My name is Sam Wilson. I’m the school psychologist and counselor at Manhattan Academy. I’m sorry to interrupt your day but is there any chance you or perhaps your husband could come to school? You see, Wanda’s gotten in a bit of trouble. No, no, she’s fine. I just need you to come down. Principal Hill would like to have a word with you. Okay, okay, thank you very much.” Sam hung the up phone. “Both her parents will be here in ten minutes.”

While we waited for Steve and Natasha to show up, Ms. Hill went to check on Peter and Flash. When Principal Hill left, Sam turned to look at me. I could tell that he was trying very hard not to sit there and laugh. To keep himself in check, Sam cleared his throat and went to sit down in one of the chairs in the back of the principal’s office. We stayed there in silence until the door opened again. I turned around to see Principal Hill leading Natasha and Steve inside, their faces a clear indication of their vexation.

“Thank you for coming in on a short notice,” Principal Hill said, indicating for Steve and Natasha to take a seat beside me, as she went to go behind her desk. “I’m Principal Hill.” She extended her hand out and they took hers. “I’m sorry we had to meet on these circumstances.”

“What’s going on?” Natasha asked. Assuming that she and Steve already knew about the altercation, Natasha was a pretty convincing actress.

Principal Hill bit her bottom lip. “Wanda, would you like to explain?”

I sighed. Of course she would pass the hard parts onto me. Keeping my gaze trained on the ground, I muttered, “I got in a fight.”

I said it quiet enough so that Steve and Natasha wouldn’t have been able to hear. They looked over at Principal Hill. “Wanda got into a physical altercation with a student, a Mr. Flash Thompson. Another student, Peter Parker, was involved,” she said.

Again, their faces of shock seemed genuine.

“Wanda got in a fight?” Natasha gasped.

Steve shook his head. “That doesn’t sound like her.”

“I can get Flash Thompson, the student Wanda accosted, and show you how his face looks after she – for lack of better words – beat him up,” Principal Hill. When Natasha and Steve stayed silent, Principal Hill pressed forward. “Fortunately, I’ve already spoken with Mr. Thompson and his parents. They won’t be pressing legal charges but there will have to be disciplinary consequences.”

Natasha sighed. “Why was she in a fight in the first place?”

“Wanda?” Principal Hill asked.

This part I didn’t have much of a problem with; hopefully Principal Hill would be slightly more sympathetic. “Flash Thompson was beating some kid up. Peter tried to help but – I wasn’t going to stand there and watch my friend get beat up by some bully!” I said, quickly.

“Right now you’re in no position to be calling anyone a bully,” Principal Hill said, seriously. “From what I saw you were attacking Flash, not the other way around.”

“Did you see what he was doing to Peter?!” I shouted. “Besides, it’s not my fault he only knows how to throw a punch…”

“I suppose the videos people took of the fight can shed some light on the situation,” Principal Hill said, very matter-a-factly.

“Videos?” Steve said, suddenly very serious. “People took videos of the fight?”

Principal Hill laughed humorlessly. “It was a fight in high school. _Of course_ people took videos. It’ll most likely be on every social media site also. God that’ll be such mess…”

Steve, Natasha and Sam looked at each other for one brief moment, brief enough so that Principal Hill wouldn’t think much of it, but it was enough for me to understand what they were thinking. Sliding more and more dejectedly into my chair, I realized the mess that I had just made. What if someone, someone more than just a high school student or a parent watching the news that showed the clip of us fighting, saw it? What if Hydra was scanning every picture and video uploaded for anything with my face on it? What if they found me because of that video? Because I was stupid enough to get involved in a fight?

“J.A.R.V.I.S. and I’ll got on that,” Stark said quietly.

“What sort of disciplinary actions are we talking about?” Natasha asked before our silence looked too suspicious.

“Most likely a suspension for three days. Any work that she misses will get an automatic zero. There will be no option for making up that work,” Principal Hill said. “Normally this would be suspension pending a formal hearing for expulsion but given the circumstances of the fight, I suppose we’ll be lenient on her.”

Steve scoffed. “Well, we’ll make up for where you’re lacking in punishment.”

Principal Hill pursued her lips. “We’ll talk to Mr. Thompson and Mr. Parker individually to make sure the stories match, though I can’t imagine Mr. Thompson admitting what you allege. Your daughter’s suspension will start tomorrow but as for today, I will unfortunately have to send her home early.”

“Of course,” Natasha said.

She, Steve and I got slowly up. We were only walking through the main foyer but it felt like the entire school was waiting around to look at us. Students pointed and whispered, their heads pressed together. Every person that I met eyes with dropped their gazes immediately, their cheeks flushing red. It was even worse with Steve and Natasha walking in front of me, absolutely silent. When we got into the blue truck where Clint was waiting in the backseat, they stayed silent. In fact, no one dared to utter a word until we got into the apartment. Quietly, Steve and Natasha sat at the kitchen table where Clint and I hesitantly joined them.

“Wanda,” Steve finally said after we sat there for nearly two minutes of silence. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“Steve–,” Natasha started.

He held his hand up. “Not now Natasha. Wanda, why you would ever be _stupid_ enough to get yourself dragged into that mess? You had no reason to do that!”

I always respected Steve but I suddenly felt disdainful toward him. “Are you serious right now? Haven’t you always said that you don’t like bullies? Didn’t you always preach that you stand up for the people that can’t stand up for themselves? What would you have had me do, Steve? Should I have just let Flash beat Peter up?”

“That’s not what I meant, Wanda,” Steve urged. “All I’m saying is that there’s been a lot of blood and sweat and pain going into protecting you. I know that you’ve given up a lot for this mission. You left behind your entire life. But everyone here protecting you has had to give things up, too. I respect what you did for your friend but you have to start thinking about how to preserve this mission!”

I stared at Steve in shock.

“Wanda,” Natasha said, calmly. “What you did was _courageous_ and something that I’m sure your classmates look up to you for...but it’s not that simple. You heard what Principal Hill said. What if those videos get into the wrong hands?”

“Then Hydra will find me and I’ll probably die!” I snapped. “Maybe you won’t have to keep _giving things up_ for me.”

Steve sighed. “Wanda, you know I would do anything to keep you safe.”

“You mean to preserve the mission, right?” I snapped.

“Are you so incapable of thinking about how important you are for one second?” Steve said. “Because of you, S.H.I.E.L.D. is the closest to taking down Hydra. You can save hundreds of lives. You can get a lot of bad people off the streets! But you cannot continue to screw up like this.”

“Okay. I’ll just let Flash beat up on kids because that’s what _you_ told me to do that,” I retorted, suddenly feeling a growing resentment toward Steve. “What if Hydra got a hold of Natasha or Sam? Would you let them die because you needed to _preserve the mission?_ Or in the army? You said you were the commanding officer? Did you let people die if meant reaching your end goal? I’m sorry that I’m not okay with _collateral damage_ the way you are!”

As soon as the words came from my mouth, I regretted it. Natasha and Clint both looked at each other for a split second before turning back to Steve. His face was twisted with pain. He swallowed it, masked the look of grief on his face and quietly said, “Just – just go to your room, Wanda. Just go.”

“You’re sending her to her room?” Clint snorted.

“It’s better than an underground _prison_ , which is where she’ll end up if Stark can’t get those videos down!” Steve snapped. It was the first time I had even seen Steve really yell. Judging by Clint’s face, the same went for him. “Just go, Wanda.”

I quickly got up.

“Steve,” Natasha started, “maybe we’re playing this wrong.”

I didn’t stick around to hear the rest. I turned on my heels and rushed straight to my bedroom, slamming the door behind me loud enough to make some of the pictures near the doorway rattle. I looked around my bedroom, disgust and horror rising in the back of my throat. Trying to keep myself calm, I dropped onto my bed where I buried my head into a pillow, tears welling in my eyes.

There was nothing I wanted more to do then open the doorway and scream at Steve but there was nothing I could say to make him feel any other way. Being a soldier, I knew that to Steve understood that sometimes there has to be sacrifice in a war. It was unfair of me to say that Steve, and I knew that. But I couldn’t help it. Peter was my best friend. He was the first person that I really felt like I could open up to. I wouldn’t take back what I did. All I could hope for was that Tony and J.A.R.V.I.S. could take care of the videos.

How? I’m not sure.

When? It’ll probably be a while.

Will I be safe? Probably not.

I stayed in my room for the rest of the night, ignoring when Clint and Natasha both knocked on my door to try and talk to me. When it was dinnertime, I didn’t listen. I couldn’t fathom keeping any food down. Throughout the night, though, Steve never knocked at my door and walked inside where we would quickly apologize to each other, and where he would tell me that Stark was successful. Steve never came. And I didn’t hear from Stark that entire night. With a heavy heart, I got into bed and tried very hard not to think about tomorrow morning.

The hope for what could have been a peaceful, dreamless sleep was tarnished by the sound of something clattering and a bang on my window. I jumped, a sudden bead of sweat dripping down my face. My legs began to shake and I began to hyperventilate. They found me. Everything that Steve and Natasha and S.H.I.E.L.D. had worked for was over. Hydra knew where I was hiding.

I shook my head; I had to keep myself calm in this situation. Natasha and Steve kept a gun in my room hidden underneath my desk. I nearly yelped when there was another bang on window. I threw the sheets off my bed, leapt onto the ground and reached for the gun. I took it off of safety and pointed it toward the window, where there was another bang and a rattle coming from the lock on the window. The banging stopped – the person couldn’t get in. I was gonna be okay. Natasha, Steve and Clint would be showing up at any minute. They can’t –

“Wanda?” A small voice broke through my inner thoughts and I froze, my breathing hitched. “Hey Wanda? Will you let me in?”

The voice sounded familiar. It was… I put the safety back on and stowed the gun away. I ran toward the window where I pulled the curtains apart. Peter was standing outside my window on the balcony wearing nothing but a thin hoodie. His hair was plastered onto his face from the pouring rain, his clothes soaked through; he was quaking where he stood. Yellowish purple bruises blossomed over Peter’s cheek where Flash had hit him and his lip looked double the size it should be.

I gasped. I pulled the latch open to my window. “What are you doing here?!” I shouted. “It’s two in the morning!” I grabbed his shoulder and helped him over the ledge into my bedroom. Every part of his body and clothes were sopping wet; rain quickly soaked through my carpet and the bench right in front of my window. He sat down onto the ledge and peeled his wet shoes off, which I took from him and put them on my desk; I didn’t mind if my desk got a little dirty. Once inside, I closed the window and locked it before rounding on Peter, not only bewildered but a little unhappy. “What the hell is the matter with you?”

“I just–...” he started.

The door burst open: Natasha kicked the door open, nearly breaking it off of its hinges. Steve burst in first, his gun drawn, Natasha, branding her sidearm as well, following shortly. Peter yelled and tripped over his feet. Natasha and Steve assessed the situation quickly and realized that the intruder was just Peter. Their eyes went wide and they quickly stowed their guns. Peter jumped to his feet, still yelling, his eyes wide with panic and theirs just as terrified with what had just happened. I stood there in between the three of them.

“You – those are – HOLY SHIT!” Peter yelled.

“I – I – we…” Steve stammered. “What are you doing here at this hour?!”

“Your parents have guns!” Peter exclaimed.

“New York is a dangerous place,” Natasha said quickly.

“And you just broke into our daughter’s bedroom!” Steve added.

“Whoa…you’re huge…” Peter said, looking Steve up and down. He shook his head and quickly added, “What? No! No, no, no, no! It’s not what it looks like, I swear. I was just – I was just, I just wanted to make sure that she was okay. I mean, she basically saved my ass and then she went and got herself suspended because of me – I just wanted to see if she was alright.” Peter grabbed a hold of his backpack (I noticed Natasha’s grip on her gun tighten) and he pulled out a little white box. He opened it to reveal two cupcakes, one of which was upside and the other the frosting was smeared off. “They – they were nice when I got them...but then I fell and then they weren’t nice… I tried to buzz myself in but no one answered. Sorry, I didn’t mean for you guys to go all Rambo on me.”

“Why couldn’t this have waited until tomorrow morning?” Natasha asked, her hands on her hips.

“Because my aunt grounded me and I wouldn’t have been allowed to leave my house,” Peter said.

“So you left without your aunt knowing about it?” Steve asked, seriously.

Peter raised his hands. “It’s okay. I’ve snuck out plenty of times before. No, I mean, I’m a great influence on Wanda I swear. I don’t do anything...I should...I should probably leave. That’s what I should do.” He turned back toward the window.

“No, no, no!” Natasha said, quickly. She grabbed the scruff of Peter’s shoulder and pulled him away from the window. “You’re freezing and soaking wet. What kind of parent would I be if I let you leave?”

“Nat, why don’t you turn the fireplace and tea kettle on? I can get some blankets. Do you want a spare change of clothes, Peter?” Steve asked.

Peter was looking between Steve and Natasha, his eyes wide. “Um, uh, no – no, I’m alright. Thank you, though! I just, I think Aunt May will find it a little suspicious that I show up in some other man’s clothes.” Peter cringed. “Not – not that Aunt May would assume anything like that. I just – I’m fine, thank you. But tea would great!”

“Why don’t you come into the living room?” Natasha said. She pressed her shoulder on Peter’s back. He was staring at her incredulously as he followed Natasha out of my bedroom.

Before I followed them, I stayed back and forced myself to take long, deep breathes. I waited until my breathe even out and my body to stop convulsing as severely. When I felt more composed, I left my room where Natasha was fussing over Peter. She had wrapped him in a wool blanket and was pulling out pillows for him to lean against; the fireplace was crackling. I thought it was rather odd to see Natasha interact with Peter in this way: though I loved Natasha, the nurturing type never seemed to be her style. It took a couple of times until Peter finally reassured Natasha that he was plenty warm and wrapped in enough blankets. Smiling, I went to help Steve in the kitchen, who was pouring two cups of tea. He handed me the two cups.

“Sorry about…” I started, looking over at Peter. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Steve looked down at me for a very long moment. His eyes softened and he pressed his arm kindly against my back. “It’s alright, Wanda.”

I knew what Steve was saying meant more than just the fact that a high school boy had crashed into my room. I wasn’t sure if Stark would be able to get rid of the videos or the pictures, but it was comforting to know that Steve didn’t completely hate me.

I sat down beside Peter and as soon as Natasha and Steve disappeared back into their bedroom, Peter let out a huge sigh of relief. “Wow! Wow! I can’t believe your dad didn’t shoot me in the face...I mean, he takes the ‘shotgun and shovel’ line literally… Anyway, I don’t think there’s a single parent that I know who would be okay with some guy breaking into their daughter’s bedroom at the two in the morning.”

I shrugged. “They’re cool…”

_– Mostly because you aren’t a mobster coming to torture and kill me._

“How’s your face?” I asked quickly.

Peter shrugged. “It looks a lot worse than it actually is… Aunt May had a mouthful to say about it but the doctors said I didn’t have a concussion or anything like that. Some ice and time is all I need.” He looked to the ground before quickly saying, “You’re kind of a badass, though. Where did you learn to fight like that?”

“Oh…” My cheeks flushed red. “It was nothing.”

“Nothing? You just took down Flash Thompson! He’s probably twice your weight! And you left without a scratch! Come on, that wasn’t nothing,” Peter gushed. “Guessing you learned to fight like that from your ultimate fighter of a dad? I mean, come on, your dad is _huge.”_

I laughed. “No, uh, actually my mom taught me that.”

“Even cooler!” Peter grinned. “Are you hungry? The cupcakes are only good when they're fresh.”

It wasn't until Peter brought up the prospect of eating that I realized I had skipped both lunch and dinner; my stomach was growling. “Yeah, I'll have one but only if you have the other,” I said, to which Peter nodded in agreement. I got up and went to the kitchen where I put the cupcakes on the individual plates. “Do you want a fork?”

“Who eats cupcakes with a fork?” Peter laughed.

I smiled as I sat down next to Peter. I took one of the fuzzy brown blankets that Natasha had put on the armrest of the couch. I wrapped it around me. I looked over at Peter, who was messing with his cupcake, pulling off the bottom half of it and pressing the half on top of the frosting, like a sandwich.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Are you serious? You've never seen somebody eat a cupcake like this?” Peter asked, incredulous. I shook my head. “Wow. You have to try it.” He took my plate and the same to my cupcake that he did to his. “It makes it so that it doesn't fall apart and so that you don't get too much frosting in one bite. Try it!”

I did and, while I didn't quite get that spectacular appreciation for eating cupcakes this way, I smiled politely and pretended that I did. We sat there in silence eating our cupcakes and sipping our tea; the only sound was the crackling of the fire. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence though. It was just us enjoying each other's company. When we were finished, I cleared our plates and teacups before going back to join Peter.

For a second we sat there in silence until Peter suddenly said, “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” I asked.

Peter shrugged. “You got involved because I was getting my ass kicked.”

I smiled. “Relax. I enjoyed it.”

Peter smiled but he quickly became very serious. “You got suspended for three days, too?” I nodded. “Same. And if it means anything to you, Flash got the same punishment. Your parents weren't too hard on you, were they?”

“To be honest, they haven't given me a punishment yet. They just yelled at me and sent me to my room,” I said.

_The fear that I wasted a once perfectly good cover is a worse enough punishment._

“What about you?” I asked.

“Grounded for a week,” Peter said, though he didn't sound bitter about it. “Could've been a lot worse if you ask me.”

“Did that kid ever thank you for saving his ass?” I asked.

Peter shook his head. “No. But heroes don't need to be thanked. You're not missing any big tests, are you?”

“No. Just homework,” I said. “At least I’m out of psychology class for a few days.”

“I thought you liked psychology,” Peter said. I shrugged. “What do you want to do with your life, Wanda?”

“You want the honest truth?” I asked.

“No, I want you to lie,” Peter mocked. “Of course I want the truth.”

For a moment, I could think of a thousand things that Natasha would recommend for me to say for this question, but I didn't want to lie. I wanted Peter to know something about me that was grounded in truth. “I guess I just want happiness. Security. Solitude. I want to work part time but I don't really know what I want to do. I want to come home to two kids in a big house with a pool. Maybe a cat or a dog. I want to live in a place that's warm in the summer so that the kids can run around, flowers that bloom in the spring, fall that brings piles of leaves so we can jump in them and a cold winter where we can huddle around the fireplace and drink hot chocolate. And a family to visit them every Christmas and thanksgiving.” That one hurt the most.

Even if I live to reach my adult years, I have no one left.

“Wow,” Peter said, “I meant more of what you want to major in…”

“Oh,” I whispered, flushing red.

“I like your answer more. I can appreciate someone who wants family to be their future,” Peter said.

We smiled, our eyes locked. There was a sort of warmth behind his eyes.

“I should get going,” Peter said, glancing at his watch.

“I'll get St – my dad,” I said, catching myself. “He can drive you home.”

Peter shook his head as he started walking toward my bedroom. “No, no, no. I took Aunt May’s car. Plus, your dad scares me.”

I couldn’t help but laugh as I followed him to my room, where he was putting his shoes back on. “You actually took Aunt May’s car?”

I beat Peter to the window so that I could put the combination into the padlock. “I don’t know what kind of community you lived in back in Oregon but New York isn’t _this_ dangerous. And anyway, I've taken it before. She never catches me. I'll see you soon!” He shouted as he swung off of the balcony and onto the ladder where he disappeared.

I rushed forward. “You can–,” I started but he was gone, “always take the front door…” I sighed. I peered out the window to see Peter scrambling to his car, which was illegally parked just a couple of feet from a fire hydrant. Once he reeled away, I closed and locked the window. I was about to crawl into bed when I realized that I wasn't alone in my room.

Steve was waiting by the door. “Sorry…I, uh, I know it's late.”

“No, no, no, it's okay,” I said.

“I just wanted to let you know that Stark got all the videos and anything that can be traced back to you down. He got the videos and the pictures down first since that's the most harmful to your cover. Thankfully, none had a clear image of your face. We do have to be careful, though. We aren't sure what Hydra saw,” Steve said.

I let out a sigh of relief. I could cry, I was so happy. But my happiness dissipated as I saw the look of discomfort on Steve’s face. “Steve,” I said before he could leave. “I'm so sorry about what I said. About…” I couldn't bring myself to say it. “I know you're just trying to protect me. To be honest, I think I just – I think I just sounded like a brat.”

Steve’s brows furrowed. “If it really came down to it and I had to choose between saving my partner or getting the guy we were after, I’d save my partner every time. The same can be said for Natasha and Clint and Sam. Probably Tony, too. It wasn't fair for me to ask you to abandon your friend the way I did. And he seems like a nice boy,” Steve said, smiling. He was about to leave until he stopped and turned around, “I’d prefer for him to use the front door next time, though.”

I smiled. “I'll let him know.”

Steve exchanged the same smile before closing my bedroom door and walking away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! I was really excited to post this chapter since y'all can finally see a few moments between Peter and Wanda that are unlike any other parts of this story.


	10. Wanda Maximoff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wanda spends the day with Clint.

Chapter Ten: Wanda Maximoff

I was suspended for the rest of that week. Though I knew I should be disappointed with myself for missing school after putting in a ridiculous amount of effort to get myself caught up, the thought of being free from sitting behind a desk listening to teachers drone on was exciting. Natasha and Steve didn’t share my enthusiasm; they decided that now would be the right opportunity to act as though they were normal parents. Instead of letting me sleep in, they woke me up at the time that I would normally get up for school and made me do chores while Natasha and Steve were at work. I scrubbed the floors, alphabetized the movies we kept in the living room, organized Natasha’s magazines by date, cleaned up the fridge, all the chores that needed to be done but that no one wanted to do. Stark spared no expense of laughing at every opportunity. They also grounded me, which felt odd considering that I had never been grounded before in my life. They didn’t take my phone, though, and Aunt May didn’t forbid Peter from using his phone either, so we passed the time by FaceTiming with each other whenever we were bored.

Other than slaving away on chores, Natasha and Steve expected me to complete all the homework that was being assigned, which I could access since my teachers posted the homework assignments online. While I didn’t receive credit for it, I had to admit that this was smart so that I didn’t quickly fall behind in school. It was utterly soul sucking, though, when I would go online and see my grades in class slip as participation points and any due assignments were entered in as a zero. Thankfully, none of my grades dropped a letter grade or really lowered beyond a percent. From what I’ve heard from Peter, Flash was the only one out of the three of us that missed a quiz. _Serves him right_.

I had to admit that not going to school, and with Natasha and Steve both out of the house with their other jobs, I found myself a little bored sometimes. I threw myself into the chores that Steve and Natasha wanted me to do and when I found that I had finished them, I tried out one of the many recipes that we had filed away in some of our cabinets for dinner each night, baked cookies and even spent some time curled up in my bed reading some of the books that S.H.I.E.L.D. had gotten for me. On that Friday, Stark was busy with a meeting and so Clint spent the day with me: it was one of the more eventful days of the week.

He arrived an hour late (something about which he threatened ‘a fate worse than death’ if I told Natasha and Steve) and quickly demanded to have some of the leftovers that I made the night before. Practically collapsing onto the couch, he kicked his shoes off and slumped over, as though he had just finished a rigorous workout. I brought over food for the both of us. “Did you just run a marathon?” I asked.

“Something like that,” Clint said. “What is this?”

“Grilled chicken. Eat it,” I said. I pulled out my phone to look at the list of chores that Natasha and Steve expected me to finish by the time that Steve showed up from work. Clean the windows, clean my bedroom and bathroom, the chores weren’t that bad.

“What are you looking at?” Clint asked.

“My chores,” I said.

Clint snorted, “Oh right! You're playing Cinderella! I forgot!”

I rolled my eyes. “I'm not playing Cinderella!” I muttered, indignant. “I’m just doing chores from a list that my parents gave me… because I beat up a kid. Besides, if I'm Cinderella that makes you the ugly stepsister! How long are you staying here anyway?”

“What? You don't like me here?” Clint scoffed.

“I never said that I didn't want you here,” I said. “All I'm saying is if you ever left your apartment besides when you absolutely had to for this mission or shared anything about your life, maybe I would know you a little bit better.”

Clint laughed. “Do you miss the fun uncle in your life? Too much of stick in the ass Steve?”

“No!” I said, quickly. “I just don't get to talk to you as much as I do with the others. Whenever you are over, Natasha and Steve are always here.”

“I’m all yours now,” Clint said. “What are you dying to know?”

I shrugged. “What do you do with your life when you aren't stalking me? Besides playing with that dartboard.”

Clint snorted. “Wouldn't you like to know?”

He leaned back onto the couch, tucking his arms behind his head and closing his eyes. Realizing and accepting that Clint wasn't going to answer my question, I went back to doing chores. I was dusting all the china glasses in the display on the counter; it wasn't a difficult chore and, as strange as this may be to any teenager, I didn't mind dusting. When I was nearly finished, I went to collect the dishes in the living room so I could load the dishwasher when I realized that Clint was asleep on the couch. From the conversations that Natasha and Steve would sometimes have at dinner, I was well aware that Clint stayed out late; sometimes he would show up at his apartment at three in the morning and other times, he wouldn't show up at all. Natasha and Steve never asked questions considering that Clint was always readily available to follow me when needed and was always reliable.

I was in the middle of loading the dishes, the sound of Clint’s snores being the only background noise, when suddenly I heard a shrill ring go off. Clint jumped, nearly falling off of the couch. He shoved his hand into the folds of his jacket and pulled a cell phone out. Judging by how severe his face got after checking caller ID, I could tell that this call was very important. “Excuse me,” he muttered and started toward the door, but just before he was going to leave, he turned back to me and said, “Try not to die while I'm gone.”

He quickly closed the door to the apartment behind me. I wanted so desperately to lean against the door and eavesdrop on the conversation, but I also knew that Clint would probably be beyond furious if I was invading his personal space. So, I threw my attention back to my chores. Clint was outside for nearly ten minutes. I could hear him every now and then raise his voice: he didn't sound angry, more amused and even a little exasperated. When he came back inside, his face was slightly red.

“Who was that?” I asked innocently.

Clint sighed. “Someone that needs my help. Get your jacket. We're going on a little field trip,” he said, taking out a piece of paper and jotting down a note. He set it onto the counter. “Come on! I've got to stop at the hardware store first.”

I immediately got up. “Why?” I asked as I grabbed a hold of my jacket and purse, and scrambled to follow Clint to the elevator. “Where are we going right now?”

“I’ll explain after I get some tools from the store,” Clint said, firmly.

Unhappy with Clint’s more than vague answer, I prodded him for more information the entire time that we walked to the car in the apartment garage where we got into a black jeep. (According to Clint, this was supposed to be his car, the Range Rover Sam drove was his and Natasha and Steve shared the blue truck). Eventually, Clint got sick of my questions and commanded complete silence the entire way to the hardware store, which I reluctantly gave into. When we reached the hardware store, Clint, who clearly knew his way around the store as he zipped through the aisles, brushed off any offers for help from sales associates. I pushed the cart and rushed to follow him. He tossed in a drill, a screwdriver, a small container of white paint and some nails, though I wasn’t sure why and for what he needed these tools; perhaps it was for his cover job.

It was about 1:30 when Clint was finished buying. As a reward for my quote ‘good behavior,’ Clint bought me a smoothie from the stand across the stand, which he stated was highly thought of by a few people who he was particularly close with. I didn’t think much of that obscure comment, thanked him for the smoothie and got back into the jeep. I assumed that we would be going back to the apartment but instead of taking a left to get onto the main road, Clint turned right and started off toward the nearest highway.

“Where are we going?” I asked, suddenly very nervous.

“I need to take care of something,” Clint said. “Natasha knows where we’re going so they won’t be worried about us. I’m sure Stark will track our location in a heartbeat after his meeting his over, so if you’re worried about going too far off the beaten track, don’t be.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” I said. “And you told me that you would _tell me_ when we were back in the car. _Where are we going?”_

Clint chuckled, “You can be a real pain in the ass, you know that right?”

“And you aren’t?”

“Fair,” Clint said. “You and Steve have been on my ass about where I go during the night when I’m not at the apartment and the truth is, unlike your _parents_ , I do have myself a life outside of S.H.I.E.L.D. J.A.R.V.I.S., would you mind taking the wheel for a moment?”

“Naturally, Mr. Barton,” J.A.R.V.I.S. said.

Clint snorted and I could tell that the idea of being called _Mr. Barton_ made Clint feel uncomfortable and old. Nonetheless, Clint let go the wheel and, instead of spiraling out of control, the jeep stayed in the center of the lane. Clint started digging through one of the compartments in the jeep before pulling out two small, folded up and creased photos and showing it to me. One picture was a photo of two children, a boy probably no older than ten years old with reddish brown hair and brown eyes and a young girl, perhaps five or six, with cropped short brown hair pulled into two pigtails that were put in slightly crooked. The other picture was a close up of a woman, smiling, her teeth slightly crooked, looking off in the distant. Her curly brown hair framed her face; her skin and eyes were glowing. I also immediately recognized her to be the woman that I saw in the coffee shop.

“Who are they?” I asked.

“The woman is Laura. The boy in the other photo is Cooper and the girl is Lila,” Clint said. “They’re my family.”

I nearly laughed. “Family? A S.H.I.E.L.D. agent has a family?”

“Surprising, I know,” Clint said. “Anyway, our staircase railing just broke and I need to go and fix it. You wouldn’t mind babysitting some kids for a little bit, would you?”

“Um,” I started, but I never finished, my mind still trying to wrap around the idea that a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent had the capability to have a child.

The remainder of the trip to Clint’s home went by rather fast. What were once highways and busy roads quickly morphed into backstreets, small towns and even smaller houses. I watched Clint’s eyes flicking from the rearview window to the side mirrors, as though he was checking to make sure that there was no one following us. His hands gripped the wheel tightly as he flicked on his turn signal and quickly took a sharp left turn. Every car that passed Clint peered into the window as though each driver was another assassin trying to follow Clint.

“Does – does Laura know about me?” I asked. “At least why your family had to move to New York?”

Clint shrugged. “They know enough to not ask questions. My kids aren’t old enough to understand what it is that I do for a living – and I don’t intend for them to find out today, either. My kids do know that my job keeps me away for long periods of time and makes us relocate often. Laura knows that I’m here protecting you, but she doesn’t know from what. She knows that just being here with me is putting her in a lot of danger… But she doesn’t care.” Clint chuckled; there was a light in his eyes that I had never seen before. He looked happy. “I don’t know why she doesn’t care…”

I smiled. It was nice to know that Clint had a family. It was nice to know that there was at least _one_ S.H.I.E.L.D. agent that had something to go home to after a painful mission or after watching someone they knew die. It was inspiring to see that a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent was more than just the sculpture that Fury twisted and deformed and manipulated. Of course, Clint never seemed like an average S.H.I.E.L.D. agent and now I can see why.

Suddenly, Clint pulled into a fenced house and my mouth dropped. It was something that I never truly expected Clint Barton to own and, most importantly, I never thought that a building like this could exist in the state of New York. Again, it was my own misconception of the United States. Vines wrapped around the fence and traced the single cherry tree that was planted in the middle of their small lawn. Stones built the pathway that led up to the front of Clint’s home. Flowers and ferns decorated the front of their house and looked almost unreal they were so beautiful and clean cut and well kept. The two-story, eclectic home in front of us was painted a light shade of yellow with green moldings around the windows. The front porch looked like it was out of a 1950’s movie with the classic white painted pillars, the wind chimes whispering songs softly in the wind and the American flag hung proudly on the side of his home. It was something that I never expected a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent to have – unless it was a part of their cover.

“Welcome to my crib, Maximoff,” Clint said, chuckling. He pulled the keys out of the ignition and locked the car. “Shoes off once you get inside and walk on the path, not the grass.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle. It felt so weird being told such an order from Clint.

“This may be the second most protected home in the entire United States of America,” Clint said. Just as we got onto the porch, the door automatically slid open.

“What’s the first most secure building?”

“The one you live in,” Clint said, helping me inside.

The inside of Clint’s home matched the outside. The walls were painted a slighter lighter shade of yellow than the walls of the exterior, and the entire home smelled slightly of coffee grounds and cake. The front entryway connected to a wooden staircase that led to four closed doors on which was a taped up poster labeled a different name with a different picture to go with it. A few parts of the staircase were splintered. The living room, which was on my left, had what looked like well-loved leather couches and a rustic looking coffee table. Pressed up against a wall was a smaller cabinet with a variety of different artwork. Judging by the pastel colors and the obscure shapes and forms, I could only tell that Clint’s children must have made this artwork.

“Hello?” Came a gentle voice, followed by loud footsteps.

“Incoming,” Clint whispered into my ear as two small children came rushing from around the corner and a woman following suit – the three people that I saw in the photo. Except, unlike in the picture, the woman was pregnant. “Well, well, well, look who we have here!” Clint said, rushing toward his children.

“Daddy!” The girl, who I remembered was named Lila, squealed.

Lila wrapped her arms around her father’s neck. Clint pulled Lila off the ground and pulled her into a tight bear hug, just as Cooper, his son, wrapped his arms around Clint’s waist. Behind him, Laura pressed her hands on Clint’s shoulder and she pressed a gentle kiss on his forehead. I felt intrusive watching this reunion and I quickly took a strong interest in the red and green patterned carpet on which I was standing.

“Wanda,” Clint said and I looked up. “This is Laura, Lila and Cooper. They’re my family.”

It was almost like I had permission to finally look upon them, and I did so slowly. Clint’s children reminded me of everything that I had lost when my parents were killed: the smile they had on their faces and the sheer glee of seeing a parent that they've missed with all of their heart. It was innocence that people loved so much in their children, innocence that was pure and clean from terror. And Laura’s eyes said it all. The way she looked at me, it was almost like she knew my entire life story: the suffering, the abuse, the fear. It was a look of understanding, a look that made it clear that she would be willing to put up with all the baggage that comes with being _a victim_. She gave me a small smile but not one out of pity. One out of admiration.

“Will she be staying for dinner?” Laura asked Clint.

He looked over at me. “I think Nat and Steve will be okay with that. But for now,” Clint said, his tone changing completely, “let’s take a look at the staircase!”

“Can I help?!” Cooper said, jumping up and down.

Clint nodded. “Of course!” he said, rubbing the top of Cooper’s head. “Lila, do you want to help your father and brother also?”

Lila looked over at me, her wide eyes full of curiosity at the stranger standing in the middle of their living room. At first I thought she was going to say something to me but she quickly nodded. “Race you to the top!” Lila shouted, and she and her brother were off.

“Wanda,” Laura said quietly as she broke away from Clint. “Would you like to help me make dinner?”

It was more than just an offer of giving me something to do while I’m here. I nodded. “Sure.” I followed Laura past the living room into the kitchen, which had a small wooden table in the center, white cabinets and white fridge. “I have to tell you, though, I’m not much off a cook.”

Laura smiled. She started taking vegetables out of the fridge. “Neither is Clint.” She leaned in a little bit closer to me and whispered, “He’s a little better with a gun. But I suppose you would know that.”

I smiled. “I’ve never actually seen him shoot.”

The outer parts of Laura’s lips curved upwards, as though she was trying to suppress a smile. “So Clint stays out of the gunfire?”

“There hasn’t been much gunfire. There hasn’t been much of _anything_ ,” I whispered. Immediately after I said it, I felt guilty about it. “I’m sorry,” I quickly said, pressing my palms against my forehead and running my fingers through my hair. “I know it must be really hard on you – and you kids. To know that Clint’s away all the time.”

Laura, who was rummaging through her drawers, stopped to look at me. She walked over to me. “Wanda, you have nothing to apologize for,” she said, evenly.

Laura looked down at me very seriously but there was nothing harsh about her expression. She was a very small woman with slight features and soft eyes, but this woman held such conviction and strength that I couldn’t help but see why Clint loved Laura. She reminded me a lot of Natasha and Principal Hill, women who were well driven with their goals and strong values that they upheld everyday. A type of woman who didn’t scream for respect, the one who simply _deserved_ it.

“Come on. That lettuce won’t cut themselves,” Laura said. “Do you want something to drink? Water? Tea? Hot chocolate?”

“I’ve never had hot chocolate before,” I said absent-mindedly as I went to wash my hands.

“YOU’VE NEVER HAD HOT CHOCOLATE?!” Someone, a young girl judging by the high-pitched squeal, yelled. Lila came soaring into the kitchen, carrying paper and a box of crayons.

My heart jumped and I nearly lost of my footing. I reached my gun almost on an instinct. Then, remembering where I was and that the person approaching Laura and me was Lila, I withdrew my hand and flushed beat red. “I’m sorry! Sorry! I just – I’m sorry. I’m very…”

“It’s quite alright Wanda,” Laura said, pressing her hand on my shoulder. She looked down at Lila, disapprovingly; Lila’s eyes were on the ground. “Lila, do you have something to say to Wanda?”

“Sorry,” she muttered, quietly. “But how come you’ve never had hot chocolate before?”

I shrugged. “It guess, So – I guess where I’m from doesn’t have a lot of hot chocolate available.”

“Well, we’ll need to change that,” Laura said, brushing her fingers across Lila’s cheek. Laura went to fill up a teakettle before putting it on the stove. “I thought you were helping daddy?”

Lila shrugged as she went to go sit down at the kitchen table. She pulled herself onto her chair, spread out the numerous pieces of white paper and popped open the box of crayons. “Boys are boring. I’d rather hang out with mommy,” Lila said, very nonchalantly. She took out a yellow crayon and started to color. Laura and I both laughed. “How old are you?”

“I’m seventeen,” I said, watching as she colored.

“Do you want to draw with me?” She asked.

“Yeah,” I said, feeling suddenly very happy inside. I took a piece of paper from Lila and she pushed the box of crayons closer to me. I carefully looked over the crayons before picking a color and putting it to the piece of paper. “How old are you?”

“Six. What are you drawing?”

“A butterfly,” I said.”

“Why a butterfly?” Lila asked. “Why not a dog?”

I smiled. The truth is I’ve always loved butterflies, especially when I was younger. I remember the first time I saw a butterfly. I was only four years old – it was one of my first memories. My parents, Pietro and I were going on one of our routine walks through our neighbor. It was probably July, nice and warm out with a gentle breeze that cooled our perspired necks. My dad had just bought Pietro and I popsicles – mine was lime; I can practically remember the taste. A butterfly, one that was blue, black and white – I don’t remember what kind it was, nor did I ever figure out what kind it was – fluttered directly in front of us. I squealed and jumped and almost dropped my popsicle. It was a faint memory and I never took an interest in butterflies afterwards but every time I saw a butterfly, I thought of that memory.

“Because – because butterflies are beautiful,” I said, quietly.

“Hot chocolate’s ready!” Laura said, to which Lila quickly squealed and started to jump.

Laura set two red cups on the kitchen table. Looking down, I couldn’t even see the hot chocolate considering that Laura had covered the top with layers of whipped cream and chocolate and caramel sauce. Lila pushed the paper she was drawing on away and grabbed a hold of the cup of hot chocolate. She took a long gulp of hot chocolate and when she set her cup down, whipped cream covered her upper lip. Laughing, Lila took a napkin off the kitchen counter and wiped it off. “Try some! You’ll love it!” She squealed. I nodded and took a tentative sip. It was steaming hot but it tasted fantastic – like a chocolate bar had been melted down and mixed in with milk.

“Do you like it?” Laura asked.

I nodded. “Yeah. Thank you!”

Laura smiled. She came to sit down beside Lila, who had gone back to drawing. She was holding her own glass of water. “Do you like New York? And Manhattan Academy?”

I nodded. “New York is a lot nicer than I thought it would be, and everyone at Manhattan Academy is really welcoming.”

“Are you adjusting well?” Laura asked.

I hesitated. I knew that she was asking more than just a simple question.

Laura sighed. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t push the subject.”

I shook my head. “No, no, it’s okay. It’s nice to have someone really ask me if I’m alright… It’s not that Clint and Natasha and Steve don’t care but it’s just…”

“Different?” Laura offered. “I understand.”

“How did you and Clint meet?” I asked.

Laura smiled. “It’s a funny story actually. Before I met Clint, I wanted to be a journalist covering international politics. I was living abroad in Germany – it was part of a paid internship program that I was fortunate enough to be a part of. The program that I was involved with paid for a small little apartment in Munich, gave me a debit card with money for food and water, and paid me for the articles that I wrote. It was everything that I wanted when I was in college. I got assignments, would do my research and then, more often than not, I would go to a little café that was about a block away from my apartment. I sat in the same place, a little corner booth with green pillows, drank the same drink and then, whenever I got hungry, ordered the same food. It was engrained in my daily routine, almost like brushing my teeth or combing my hair. I was very fond of the people that owned the café.

“At that time, Clint went under a different name. Clint was there for _work_ , obviously,” Laura sighed. Her eyes were glowing with the memories of meeting Clint but I could tell there was some worry, some part of her that was thoroughly exhausted of being scared for Clint. “He was twenty-eight at the time and deeply involved with S.H.I.E.L.D., much more than he’s involved now. Though Clint was and is still forbidden to tell me much of the details about the mission he was on, I know that he was stationed there for quite some time, watching over a mobster or something along those lines. Apparently, this gang was using the café as a legitimate business to launder money for–…” Laura abruptly stopped. She glanced at Lila, who looked almost bored at the story; she was devoted to whatever picture she was drawing.

“I suppose it doesn’t surprise you then that Clint’s cover while he was in Germany was working at the café. I remember him. He used to serve me drinks a lot. He always put a dash of cinnamon in my coffee, and sometimes gave me glasses of ice water even when I didn’t ask for it,” Laura chuckled. “Clint was and remains such a flirt. He knew I was interested and I _thought_ he was but he never made a move. I thought he was playing hard to get but I now know that it was because S.H.I.E.L.D. agents aren’t suppose to get involved with anyone while they’re on the job. But one day, when Clint was coming over to give me a glass of water, he tripped. I know, a spy who trips over their own two feet while serving drinks. He spilled water all over me and all over the files that I was working on. I had them backed up so it wasn’t a big deal but he fumbled like an idiot when he was trying to apologize. I remember him saying that he wanted to make it up to me and…” Laura stopped, a huge smile on her face. “I said that he could take me to dinner.

“Gusty – I know!” Laura said, and I couldn’t help but laugh. “But I was in Germany, and at the time I thought that, after I left to go back to the States, I would never see Clint together. I seized the opportunity. At first, he didn’t look interested but then – then he said yes. We dated for the entire time that I was in Germany. Clint would disappear every now and then, and sometimes he acted very jumpy but I didn’t think much of it. Then one night I showed up at his apartment to surprise him for dinner and when I walked inside, he was covered in blood. Got into some fight with one of the mobsters.”

“What did you do?” I asked.

Laura smiled. “He gave me some excuse about tripping. Everyone could see through it – his employers, the landlord, he didn’t have any friends so that was bust. I tried to convince him to go to the hospital but he wouldn’t listen. Things got rough for us. I knew that he was mixed up with some dangerous people but I thought it was gambling – or drugs. I didn’t think it was because he was an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. Clint became very distant shortly afterwards. We broke up, but I was persistent. I strongly believed that he was getting himself into something bad and I kept an eye out for him, in case something went wrong. I got the slip on a spy,” she said, laughing slightly. “He got in a gun exchange with one of the men and… He dropped the gun and so I picked it up and shot the mobster.”

My mouth dropped open. “You–…”

“I didn’t kill him,” Laura quickly said. “I was a terrible shot. Really, I just nicked his shoulder but Clint got to his feet and I watched my future husband take down a mobster in front of me.”

“What did they do to you? S.H.I.E.L.D., I mean?”

“Obviously they couldn’t let me go so they placed me under witness protection like they did with you – just with less restraints I suppose. Clint was supposed to be my handler and very quickly our relationship changed. Once Fury gave us permission to get married, I couldn’t have a day job anymore, so now S.H.I.E.L.D. funds our lives.” Laura looked over at Lila. “It’s hard sometimes, I’ll admit that. Every night when Clint’s away I have a hard time falling asleep or even so much as focusing on doing daily tasks but it’s nice to know that my husband is out doing something that he loves and is doing something that helps not just himself but the world.”

“Do you want him to quit?” I asked, very seriously.

Laura shook her head. “It would be nice to know that my husband isn't doing something that could potentially kill him but I also know that it would be unbelievably selfish of me to ask for such a thing.”

I looked at Laura for a very long time. I tried to imagine a much younger version of the woman before me, one without wrinkles from worrying so much, one that didn’t have to live everyday with the fear of losing someone that she loves, holding a gun to a mobster. It was a peculiar sight, one that didn’t fit the perception that I had of Laura from the minute that Clint showed me the picture of her and their children.

I spent the next few hours listening to Laura and eventually Clint, who drifted in after fixing the railing, relishing in memories of the past, laughing about old inside jokes that I pretended to understand and sighing in contentment at thinking about the times that they’ll have in the future. I was jealous almost at the sight of Clint pressing his arms gently against Laura’s back and Laura, brushing her hair out of her eyes, as she continued to prepare dinner. I was jealous of when Cooper and Lila would playfully run around the kitchen and Clint would chase after them, Laura holding back tears of laughter. Clint never seemed like someone that would allow himself to wallow in the misery and hardships of his pasts, but this was the first time that I had truly seen him genuinely happy. The sight of the simple smile stretched across his face, the look of peace in his eyes, was a image that I would cherish. It was one that I _wanted_.

I was truly envious of Clint Barton, and everything that he had.

We had burritos that night for dinner, which Clint and I constantly joked about how this wasn’t on Steve’s prescribed diet. Dinner was a long affair, much different than how Steve, Natasha and I would eat at home. We sat around, laughed, told stories about the day – it reminded me of the lunches that I had with Pietro. Spending time with Clint’s family was _refreshing_. When dinner was finished, Laura brought up fresh-baked apple pie, which was apparently Clint’s favorite considering that he had two pieces and wrapped up about half to take home.

It was sad when we had to leave. Clint and his family all seemed use to such an affair but watching Clint hold his kids for almost a whole minute and look into Laura’s eyes for another two punched a hole straight into my stomach. I said my goodbyes to Clint’s family, which was much harder and much more forlorn that I expected. Laura gave me a hug and packed a few packets of hot chocolate for me in case I ever needed it. Cooper, who I didn’t really talk to much, gave me a wide toothy smile and then Lila pulled me into a bear hug. She held out a piece of paper, on which she drew six people all holding hands, standing in a line on top of a green hill.

“Look. It’s us. There’s daddy, mommy, me, Cooper, you and then that’s Nathaniel. He’s gonna be our brother!” Lila said, pointing toward Laura’s stomach. “It’s our family!” She laughed, shoving the paper close to me.

Tears welled in my eyes. “Thank you,” I whispered, hugging her back.

“Mommy, will Wanda come back to visit us?” Lila asked.

Laura looked at Clint. “I don’t know, honey,” Laura said. “Wanda’s pretty busy.”

Lila looked down. “Oh, okay.”

“We’ll make an effort,” Clint promised, putting his hand on my shoulder. “But now, we have to get back. I’ll call you guys when I get back, okay?” He said, giving Lila a kiss on the forehead.

“Miss you, daddy,” Lila muttered.

Clint smiled. He pulled Lila, Cooper and Laura into a hug and whispered, “I’ll miss you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this little insight into Clint's life. I'm super excited for the upcoming chapters since you're going to learn a little bit more about Wanda's backstory!


	11. Wanda Maximoff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wanda and Peter study for a test together, and then goes to the movies afterwards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Mentions/brief description of sexual assault and rape. Nothing is too graphic but please read at your own discretion!

Chapter Eleven: Wanda Maximoff

We drove home together in silence. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, one filled with tension and with a lack of anything to say. I understood that Clint, despite the façade of nonchalance that he put on after we left his house, was still reeling over leaving his family. I wanted to let him think to himself, to come to terms with the fact that he might not see his family for a few more days. It may sound dramatic, but I understood why it would be hard for Clint. The silence was just as nice and as needed for me. I tried to absorb everything that I had learned about Clint. It was almost a relief to know there was some human still left in Clint. It gave me perspective. It made me almost _nervous_ to know that Fury expected Clint to give up his life to _preserve the mission_.

When he dropped me off Steve was doing the dishes while Natasha was sketching something out on a piece of a paper. I still wasn’t sure if Steve knew about Clint’s family but thankfully neither Steve nor Natasha questioned me on what we had done all day. They were glad to know that I was back home safely and, after offering some of the soup that they had for dinner, decided it was best just to let me go to my room. I pulled out the drawing that Lila gave me and truly let myself admire it. The six of us were all stick figures and drawn in yellow crayon. Clint was obviously the tallest, then Laura, myself, Cooper, Lila and then little baby Nathaniel, who I hadn’t even met yet but I already felt such a connection to him. Black crayons indicated our eyes, red our lips and either orange or brown for our hair. There was a little, yellow circle in the upper left head corner that was the sun. It was one happy family, a family that Lila thought I was a part of, even though I barely knew her family. Smiling, I pinned the picture onto my bulletin board and went to bed, dreaming of a family and of happiness. Warmth. Love.

The weekend came and went in a blink. Natasha and Steve eased up on overloading me with chores so that didn’t provide me with much to do. My workload wasn’t too bad, even though I missed a few days of school. The only eventful part of this week was that our TV broke and Stark came over to fix it. But then the new week came, and I was genuinely excited to go back to school (a comment about which Stark teased me relentlessly).

I wasn’t sure how I expected people to react when Peter, Flash and I returned to school, but other than a few people pointing toward us and some others making a few comments about it, everything seemed back to normal. As the week went on, I started to notice that the biggest difference was Flash’s demeanor. He was still the same Flash that shouted across the classroom and made jokes at inopportune times but now he didn’t make jokes at other people’s expenses. He pretended that Michelle, Ned and Peter didn’t exist and, most importantly, he didn’t harass the people that he used to harass. It was as though he now thought that, because Peter and I stood up to him, everyone else would. It was interesting to see the power dynamic play out between Peter and Flash whenever they ran into each other: Peter was much smaller than Flash but it seemed as though Flash was intimidated by Peter. Peter didn’t act upon that intimidation. He never made jokes about how Flash sometimes would cringe away from Peter and I. The two of us, acting upon mutual agreement, even went up to Flash a few days into that week and we both apologized for attacking him and Flash reciprocated with that. I wouldn’t say that there was a new friendship blossoming between the three of us, but there was at least a truce.

The biggest relief, though, was when I came back to school to realize that I hadn’t missed as much schoolwork as I thought. I was a little bit lost at first in most of my classes, especially since none of my teachers made any special effort to catch us up, but I quickly caught my footing and now everything seemed to be at ease. I couldn’t make up for the assignments that I had lost, but I had taken it upon myself to do them, something that my teachers greatly appreciated. The only class that I truly had to sprint to keep up with was AP Biology. We had started the biochemistry unit when Peter and I were suspended. The two lessons that we missed were apparently the most crucial lessons upon which the rest of the units were built. Peter didn’t have a problem catching up but every night I tried to reread the textbook and simply never made sense. So the week after when Dr. Banner announced that we would be having a test next class, my heart dropped. I went to lunch feeling thoroughly dejected.

“You look like you’re about to blow a vein, Wanda,” Michelle said. “What’s on your mind?”

I sighed. “Dr. Banner just dropped a bombshell on us. We have to take a test next class on a unit that I don’t understand because I missed the first two days of the unit.”

I said that just as Peter came to sit down with us. “Oh yeah, are you talking about the biochemistry test? Yeah, I’ve heard from students last year that the test is pretty hard. Probably not for me, though, since I kill at bio.”

Michelle whacked Peter in the chest. “Good thing you’re a humble person Peter. You might have no friends otherwise.”

Peter laughed. He quickly leaned in closer to me and whispered, “I’m just messing with you. If you need any help, I’d be willing to come over tonight and go over the study guide with you. Biochemistry is kind of my thing.”

“Anything involving science is kind of your thing,” Ned muttered.

“True,” Peter said, “but seriously, I can come over tonight if you want. Help you study.”

I nodded. “Yeah! Yeah, that’d be great!”

“Sweet! You better supply good food!” Peter said.

Stark snorted so loudly I cringed. “Have you seen the food that Natasha and Steve keep in your fridge?!”

“How do you put up with him talking in your ear all day?” Sam muttered.

“What are you talking about? I keep her entertained all day,” Stark said.

I excitedly joined the conversation during lunch now that I didn’t have to worry as much for this upcoming bio test. I went to yearbook with a smile on my face and left just as happy as Peter and I went to our lockers together. Because I couldn’t exactly come up with a good explanation as to why Sam would be driving us home today, Sam, Stark and I thought it best that we just walk home. (I kind of wished that I could have had the chance to have Sam drive me home. He had made it a regular event to do a mini therapy session in the car over all of my nightmares. As exhausting as they were, it felt nice to be honest with someone). It was a little bit colder than usual outside but we both had jackets, and we both could use the fresh air.

“This is actually a pretty nice place to live,” Peter said, looking the apartment complex up and down. “Close to school and to a pizza parlor!”

“Yeah, my parents tried to pick a place that was close,” I said as I typed in the code to get inside. I said hello to the landlord, who just shrugged his shoulders, and then Peter and I rushed upstairs, laughing the entire time.

When we get inside, it smelled strongly of cleaning appliances: the kitchen counter looked freshly wiped down, the dishes were done and there was a platter of freshly made cookies on the kitchen counter. I set my and Peter’s backpack onto the kitchen counter and picked up the note that was left beside the platter. I laughed as the read the note. “Who made them?” Peter asked as he quickly took one.

“Tony Stark,” I said, showing the note.

Peter practically choked. “TONY STARK?! Of Stark Industries Tony Stark – or just some fake Tony Stark?”

“Of Stark Industries. He’s a family friend,” I said, laughing as I reached for my bio textbook.

“What the shit?! He’s my superhero!” Peter exclaimed. “I love Tony Stark!”

I laughed. “Yeah, my mother was his interior decorator so we’ve known each for a while now. Do you want anything besides cookies to eat? Are you hungry?”

“I’m a teenage boy. I’m always hungry! What else do you have?” Peter asked, going over to the fridge and looking through it. The minute he opened the fridge and started rummaging through the contents and I could tell by the look on his face that he wasn’t impressed with what he say. “What’s this green thing?” He asked, taking out the pitcher of green juice.

“Green juice,” I said. “My dad drinks it every morning. My parents – they’re kind of health freaks.”

Peter groaned. “Oh god! Next time warn me first so I can stock up at home. Don’t get me wrong! Aunt May makes me eat vegetables like normal parents but do you even have soda?”

“We have sugar free lemonade,” I offered.

“Jesus!” Peter exclaimed.

I ignored him. “Why don’t you just add sugar to the lemonade? Glasses are in the cabinet next to the fridge, sugar is by the coffee maker. Will you pour me some?” I asked as I spread out everything I needed to study: my textbook, the study guides, the pages of notes that I took, pens, highlighters, sticky notes – the works. When Peter came to sit next me, he just laughed. “What?”

“Nothing. Why do you need all that stuff?”

I shrugged. “I like colors.”

Peter chuckled. “I can tell, Maximoff. Okay, let’s start with section one!”

Peter and I started taking apart the textbook section by section. Grueling, exhausting and thoroughly boring work. I answered the questions on the study guide on a separate piece of paper, while Peter just sat there absorbing the words that I was writing down and the words of the textbook. He made a few jokes about my color-coding: red for vocabulary, blue for certain topics, green denoting what question we were on and pencil for everything else. For the most part, however, Peter was well focused and helpful. When my mind trailed off or when I was getting so frustrated with something that I simply couldn’t understand, Peter would simplify everything for me. He made things tangible to me.

When we reached the last two sections, I could barely keep my eyes open. “How can you sit here and read this? Terms and Conditions for iTunes Music is more interesting than this.”

“Boredom is just a sign of stupidity,” Peter muttered. “I’m kidding! I’m kidding! Okay, why don’t we take a break?”

I nodded. “Yes please! I’m _exhausted!”_

Peter closed the textbook and walked into the living room. He looked around for a second. “This place looks a lot nicer when the sun is out,” he commented, laughing as he did. He stopped in front of the cabinet behind the couches and pulled out the two woven boxes underneath. “What’s in these?”

“I don’t know,” I answered truthfully and I went to sit down beside him.

Peter took the lid off of the box. Inside were leather-bound scrapbooks with gold jewels decorating the edges of the front cover. On each scrapbook was a year, dating all the way back to 1998, when I was supposed to be born. I had never seen them before – I never really looked around at all the knick-knacks that S.H.I.E.L.D. used to decorate my life that wasn’t really true. I picked up one. I was supposed to be six. A fake school picture. A picture of Steve and I on the first day of school. Vacation pictures. Lots and lots of vacation pictures. I couldn’t believe that S.H.I.E.L.D. had devoted so much effort into these scrapbooks: real-looking flight tickets of our trips, photos of animals and the sunset, authentic buildings.

Peter stopped on one spread, a trip to Washington D.C. Peter rested his finger on the photo of Steve, Natasha and me in front of the Lincoln Memorial. I was wearing a red shirt with an American flag printed in the center and all the white stripes covered with lots and lots of glitter. My brown hair was pulled into my pigtails and I had a large, goofy grin on my face. Steve was picking me up. He wasn’t even looking at the camera; he was too busy looking at my face. Natasha was wearing the same shirt I was wearing and had her arms wrapped around Steve and me. Steve and Natasha both looked years younger than they were now. Steve didn’t have look on his face like he was seeing nothing but ghosts of his pasts, and Natasha didn’t look like she was trying to carry a world’s worth of secrets on her back. It looked like foreign happiness.

“This is nice,” Peter said. “I’ve always wanted to go to Washington DC. Aunt May said that after I graduate we can go through as a gift. What was your favorite part about DC I asked?”

“Uh, um, everything,” I said, quickly, biting down on my lip. “I was kid. Every trip was a great trip.”

Peter laughed. “That’s true.” He closed the scrapbook. “God, I miss how great everything was when we were kids. I don’t know about you, but how many times have you revisited something you loved as a child and then find out that it just isn’t as good as you remember?”

_Never. I didn’t really have a childhood._

I smiled. “All the time, especially with movies.”

“Yeah. If I ever have kids, I should do something like this,” Peter said, absent-mindedly. “I hope your mom keeps doing this. You’ll probably really enjoy looking back on these memories, especially when you’re old and miss home.”

That hurt. I knew Peter didn’t think it would, but I did. Because odds are I wasn’t going to grow up like Peter. And even if I did, these weren’t real memories. These pictures weren’t something that I could look back on and relive. These pictures were nothing but painful reminders of the life that I lost. My childhood wasn’t happy photos. It was pain. Fear. Nightmares. Anguish. Loss. A whole shitload of things that makes getting through every single day difficult.

“Should we finish the study guide?” Peter asked.

“Yeah,” I muttered.

We got through the remainder of the textbook fairly quickly. Perhaps it was Peter’s focus that drove us to finishing so much quicker than before, or perhaps it was my lack of enthusiasm that I had. I tried to put a smile on my face when I was finished, pretend that everything was okay when it really wasn’t. Peter didn’t seem to buy into it but he thought that I was just nervous the test. He reassured me, told me that I wasn’t going to fail, and I tried my best to sell that _that_ was why I was upset. Peter took one of the chocolate cookies for the road, made a few jokes about the sugar-free lemonade, and then went on his merry way.

When Steve and Natasha came home from their cover jobs, they both picked up that something was wrong but I was glad when neither said a word to me about it. They understood that sometimes talking wasn’t something that I needed at the time.

That night, I didn’t sleep great. I stayed up for a long time looking at the pictures on the wall, finally appreciating everything that S.H.I.E.L.D. put together to make Wanda Maximoff seem real. It was painful to finally acknowledge that Wanda Maximoff wasn’t _true_. That my life was just one big lie. But it was also a pain that I understood. If I give up my life to protect some other Wanda Maximoff out there stuck in the same hopeless situation with Hydra, then that was okay. I know people are suffering from Hydra and living in fear, and they probably have it worse. I had a sense of responsibility and duty towards those people to help them. Their future, their kids don’t have to sacrifice their childhood like me. So, I propelled myself forward, put a smile on my face the next day when Peter asked if I was alright, and told everyone that things were together in my life when they really weren’t.

I would mask the pain if it meant saving someone else from the same misfortune.

*     *     *

The biology test went much better than I thought. While I expected myself to look at the pages of the test and think that I was reading nothing short of a foreign language, I found myself breezing through the test. There were a few problems that I stumbled over and the few that I had to guess on but every test has problems like that. When I turned the test in, I had a smile on my face. I felt good. I felt like I accomplished something, even if it was just some test. My results showed when I got the test back next class. A 96%. Maybe not an achievement to Peter or any other genius that went to Manhattan Academy but to myself, to a person that never showed an interest in their education for various other reasons, it finally felt like I won _something_.

After Dr. Banner excused us from class that Friday, Peter rushed towards me, coming to a screeching halt in front of me. “Hey! How did the test go for you?”

I nodded. I couldn’t help but smile. “I got an A.”

Peter smiled. “That’s awesome! You must have had a good tutor!” Peter said, nudging me in the ribs, laughing. “No, I’m just messing with you! But, um, we should – we should maybe go do something this weekend, you know? To celebrate a relatively successful test?”

“What would you have in mind?” I asked.

Peter shrugged. “What about going to the movies or something?”

“With Michelle and Ned?”

Peter’s eyes went wide. “I was thinking more of just you and me.”

My cheeks flushed red. Stark groaned into the headset. “Wow. I don’t know whom I’m more embarrassed for. You or the kid?”

“But I can ask Michelle and Ned if you want…” Peter said. His eyes dropped to the ground. “They might just both magically have plans…” he added, as though I wouldn’t be able to hear what he said.

“Dear god. Wanda, just put this kid out of his misery,” Stark commanded.

I smiled. “Of course I wanna go to the movies with you.”

Peter’s eyes lit up and his mouth stretched into a wide grin. “Really? Awesome! Okay. Yeah, cool. I was thinking we could do something Saturday night, if that’s alright with you. I can pick you up from your apartment and we can walk to the movie theater together.”

I nodded. “Yeah. Let’s do it.”

*    *     *

That Saturday, Natasha excitedly took me shopping to the mall center that was close by. It was the first time that I had been out shopping since I moved here and I really did enjoy myself. It was actually fun trying on different clothes and not having to worry about how much something was since S.H.I.E.L.D. would be picking up the tab. We got our makeup done, smelled almost twenty different perfumes and candles, tested lotions and body scrubs from _Lush_ and got a big pretzel and a smoothie to share. While I thoroughly enjoyed spending time with Natasha, the moment she tore open my closet to put together outfits for me, my heart started to race. It wasn’t the thought of going on a ‘date’ with a boy; it was the idea of being with a boy by myself that terrified me.

“What about this one?” Natasha asked. She was holding up a leather jacket and a pair of jeans.

I shook my head. “Wouldn’t that look like I’m trying too hard to look cool?”

Natasha sighed and she tossed the clothes onto my bed where the other clothing items she suggested were discarded after I quickly rejected them. Natasha sat down beside me. “I’ve showed you almost ten different outfits and none of them are _you._ I think it’s time you step out of your comfort zone for once,” Natasha said.

I laughed. “Going to high school and making friends… My comfort zone has already been eviscerated. Maybe I should just text Peter and tell him I'm sick. Do you think he'll believe that?”

“You’ll break the poor kid’s heart,” Stark reprimanded.

“Stark!” Natasha snapped. She looked back at me, smiling. “Are you just nervous?”

I shrugged.

Natasha sighed. She pressed a button on comms. “Let's talk. Girl-to-girl. I just turned off comms so hopefully Stark gets the message. Now, I want you to tell me what's going on Wanda?”

I didn't answer. I was so used to covering up this part of my life; even Pietro didn't know about it. It was so easy to cover it up, as well. Cutting myself off from the pain. Ignoring how bad it felt afterwards. Putting on front is almost too easy now. So instead of telling Natasha the truth, I choose to lie. “Maybe this isn’t such a great idea. I should just text Peter and tell him I’m sick or something. Or I could tell him that my parents don’t want me going! Michelle says that that’s a good excuse.”

I pulled my phone out but before I could so much as unlock it, Natasha grabbed my wrist and gently set the phone back onto my bed. “No, no, no, you aren’t going to do that. Why are you so scared of going to the movies with this guy?”

My face flushed red. “It – it’s nothing. I just–…”

Natasha pursed her lips.  “Wanda, as surprising as it may sound to you, I was once a seventeen year old girl. You can talk to me. And I'm assuming you aren't just nervous about going on a date.”

“It's not a date,” I corrected. I went to sit down beside Natasha.  

“Regardless of what label you are giving this date, I've been trained to _observe emotions_. What is wrong?” Natasha commanded.

I sighed, my stomach clenching up nervously. “I never told Pietro of this and if I ever had, he would hate himself for letting me do it. For the two years that my brother and I were on the road, Pietro would sometimes disappear for a day or two. Sometimes he would lead Hydra astray, or go after leads to find ways out of Sokovia. He always made sure that I was somewhere safe, that I had food and water. Living on the streets wasn't always that easy. I can always defend myself from other stuff and people who would do anything for the food that I had. Kill even for the food that I had. They were always bigger than me and I always knew that trying to fight them would be a waste of my energy.”

“So you let yourself starve?”

“Sometimes I would and sometimes when I was really desperate, I did _other things_ for money…things that I’m not exactly proud of.” I looked over at Natasha and, based upon her expression, I knew that she wasn't judging me and that I was safe to continue. “One time when Pietro was running around doing something, he ran into a bit of trouble and he didn't come back for about a week. There was this little shed right next to this crowded marketplace, more of a black market to put it. We knew that it would be safe for me to stay there until he came back. Unfortunately for me, there were some people on the streets that saw me go in there and that knew that I was hiding out. One day this man approached me. I thought he was just another person on the streets looking for food that I had and I figured that when he realized someone had taken the food that I was supposed to eat he would leave me alone. Turns out he wasn't there for the food…”

My cheeks felt hot, and suddenly I didn't have the desire to continue. I still remember what that man looks like, every detail and even his smell are burned in my long-term memory, as if I'd seen him just yesterday. He was a scraggly man with an unshaved beard and stained clothes that had very unpleasant scent. It was almost indiscernible from a fermenting tomato in a garden patch. I remembered I had to resist gagging when I first smelled him.

“What did he want?” Natasha asked.

“He gave me an ultimatum: either he'll turn me in to police – after all I was trespassing – or I let him _use_ me…” I swallowed hard. I waited to continue until I completely understood Natasha's reaction.  There was a look of sympathy mixed with horror. “At first I was going to refuse. I was only 16 years old. But then, the man offered me money. And when he said that he would bring back friends if he thought it was _good enough_ that they would pay to. Ten dollars per person per hour. I guess it sounds kind of degrading when I say it out loud… I know it may not sound like a lot but for me, for someone who is depending on their older brother stealing food for them, I knew this was our best chance at getting _some_ money. It was enough for us to buy blankets when it got cold, luxury items like that considering that Pietro only stole food and water; I would tell him that I stole it.

“The entire week Pietro was gone, these men stayed in a little pub across the street where they could watch me to make sure that I never ran away. These men, they were rough. They took turns. They never gave me a chance to catch my breath; they pushed me around; called me degrading names and laughed whenever I told them that I didn't want them to call me that.  Sometimes for the fun of it to have the men would hold my hands above my head and pin me down so that I couldn't move…but they always paid. I didn't object to what they were doing – I guess even if I did they weren’t listening, though.  

“I found people that are always interested in this sort of stuff whenever Pietro was gone. Normally, I didn't have a problem with getting the money, except that one time. A man had me cornered in the back of the alley. Told me he heard about my reputation… I guess I'll spare you the details; I can hardly even remember it.” I sighed, my heart heavy. “When I was younger, I always thought the first time supposed be special, especially looking at how much my parents loved each other. I don't believe that anymore…”

I swallowed hard as a way to prevent myself from crying. I knew that Natasha would never judge me for my actions or for what happened, but I couldn't help but feel ashamed of myself.

Natasha let out a heavy sigh.

“Do you not believe me?” I asked.

Natasha shook her head. “Of course I do. I mean, I won’t lie: you’ve done a good job hiding your past pretty well but, I do.”

I shrugged. “Repressing memories may not be the healthiest way to cope, but it’s the easiest – at least for me.”

“Are you scared of Peter?” Natasha asked.

It was an odd question to ask me because as I thought about it I realized why it had to be asked. I shook my head. “He's given me no reason to be afraid of him but the thought of putting myself in a situation where it can end up being like what happened before…that terrifies me.”

Natasha sighed. “I can't pretend to understand what you went through, Wanda, and I know there isn't a lot that I can say to help you feel better. What I can say to you is that I can understand being scared of opening yourself up to other people, especially when you're trained from a young age to trust no one but your gun, and your brother in your case, can be very difficult. When people take advantage of you, and not just in the way that those men did with you, it makes you think that other people would do that too. Right?”

I nodded.

“Again, I don't know how helpful this would be because I've never…” Natasha stopped. She shook her head and then said, “but I can tell you that when you are _terrified_ about building relationships with other people, sometimes the best way to overcome this is to force yourself to do just what you're afraid of,” Natasha said. “Let me explain. And I don’t think Fury – or the rest of S.H.I.E.L.D. – will be very happy about what I’m going to tell you but I think you should know.”

“What is it?” I asked.

“Like Steve and Barton and Wilson, I wasn’t always a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. And I wasn’t always a US citizen, either. When I was younger, I trained to be a part of the KGB, a sect of the Russian government. My parents were quite involved in the organization so I was recruited young,” Natasha said.

“How young?”

“I started training to be a Russian spy when I was thirteen years old,” Natasha said.

My mouth dropped open. “ _Thirteen?!”_

Natasha smiled. “Don't sound so impressed. You were younger when Pietro joined Hydra. Why do you think Fury assigned me as your handler? Anyway, I did a lot of the dirty work the KGB, and the American government didn't like that. S.H.I.E.L.D. ordered a hit for me after I, uh, caused a few problems for them but, uh, after I helped Clint out in a sticky situation, I started working the S.H.I.E.L.D.. I was very skeptical at first; every time someone tried to help me, it was only because they wanted to use me. You see, I have a very specific skill set and people valued what I could do. It was very difficult to learn to trust Nick Fury and anyone in the S.H.I.E.L.D.”

“How did you do it?” I asked.

“Fury forced my hand, told me I had to work with a partner,” Natasha said. There was a hint of lightheartedness in her voice, though it was masked with the dark look in her face.

“Was it Clint?”

“At first. He helped me adjust to the American/S.H.I.E.L.D. way of a life but Clint wasn't quite in the spy life and he preferred to be stationed in America; we only went on a couple of international missions.” Natasha smiled slightly. “Clint was reassigned and I was sent to work with a different partner: Steve. We've been working together ever since.”

“Did it get easier? Opening yourself up to other people?” I asked.

Natasha shook head. “I'd be lying if I were to say yes but it's not impossible. I assumed it helped that my life depended on my relationship with my partner, but I can tell you that forcing yourself to spend time with someone helps as well. So, Wanda Maximoff, as your ‘parent’, I forbid you from not going to the movies with Peter. Now, let’s pick out that outfit.”

Smiling, Natasha and I stood up from our bed and reexamined the outfits that I had discarded before. I was still nervous about going to movies with Peter, but it was the sort of anxiety that I could handle. We eventually settled on a red leather jacket, a loose fitting black button up dress, thigh high black socks and an excess of necklaces and rings. As I looked at myself in the mirror of my bathroom, Natasha finished the last touches of my makeup. Natasha muttered something about going to talk to Steve and left me in my room. I kept staring at my reflection. It was like I was looking at myself. My _real_ self. Smiling, I followed Natasha into the kitchen.

We only waited for a moment until the doorbell rang and, as I went to go answer it, Steve beat me to it. He pulled the door open. Peter was standing outside, rocking back and forth on his heels, dressed in a gray jacket, jeans and a green button up – probably the nicest clothing I’ve seen him wear since I met him. In his hands was a small bouquet of lilies. He had a huge smile on his face and was about say something until he realized that Steve had answered the door, not me. He looked at Steve up and down and gulped.

“Um, hi. I – I – I’m Peter,” he stammered, holding his arms out.

“Steve Rogers,” he said after a long second, holding out his hand so that Peter can take. Steve opened the door wider and Peter quickly stepped inside. “I believe you and I got off on the wrong foot.”

“Probably didn’t help that we caught you sneaking into our daughter’s bedroom through the window,” Natasha said, pressing her arm against Steve’s back. “I’m Natasha Romanoff. I’m Wanda’s mother.”

“I, uh, I got this for you guys. Kind of an apology for breaking into your house,” Peter said, holding up the flowers. Steve, smiling, took them and set them onto the counter. “You said your last name was Romanoff? So, you three all have different last names?” Quickly, Peter’s eyes went wide and he stammered, “Wow. That’s pretty rude. Sorry, I didn’t – I mean, I shouldn’t have said that.”

Natasha laughed. “It doesn’t matter to us. I kept my maiden name for work purposes and Wanda’s last name comes from her real parents.”

Peter looked back and forth between Natasha and then Steve and then me and back at Natasha. I could see the light bulb go off in his head and he quickly said, “Oh, you’re…I get it now. Okay, I feel kind of dumb. I should have figured that out.”

“And don't forget about me!” Stark objected, sneaking up from Peter and settling between Peter and me. “I'm Tony Stark. I’m Wanda’s uncle – ish.” Peter looked at Tony and, judging by his wide eyes and his mouth that dropped open, Peter clearly knew who Tony was. “You must be Peter.”

“You – you know who I am?” Peter gasped.

Tony smiled. “Wanda talks about you so much I feel like I'm there at school with you two.” While I would have joined in with Tony, Steve and Natasha, who laughed at our inside joke, I was too embarrassed.

“You're – how – whoa, this is awesome…” Peter gasped looking back and forth between Tony and me. “How do you – how? How?”

“Her mother was my interior decorator. We’ve been friends for a while,” Tony said.

“I thought you were joking!” Peter exclaimed, nearly tripping over his feet as he rushed toward Tony. That – that is awesome! Do you think – I love your work, man! I read about how you're designing that flying machine and the Iron Suits you want to build are insane! And J.A.R.V.I.S.! That’s pure genius. God, do you know how badly I want something like that? I – god, sorry, I ramble when I meet my idols.”

Tony laughed. “Always nice to meet a fan, especially one as intelligent as you. I knew Peter Parker sounded familiar. I read your research project that you did last year on the functions of the mitochondria. I must say that it was pretty impressive.”

“You – you read _my paper?”_ Peter gasped. “And you – I think I’m gonna pass out.”

“Well, we wouldn’t want you passing out before the movies,” Natasha said.

I exploited this quickly, standing up and grabbing onto Peter’s arm. “Yes, I agree! We should get going. We don’t know how bad traffic is going to be.” I started pulling Peter toward the door, who looked like he was having a hard time breathing he was so excited.

Steve pulled out his wallet but Peter quickly objected. “No, no, no, don’t worry about it. I – I have coupons,” Peter said.

“Just in case,” Steve said firmly and handed me forty dollars, which I slipped into my wallet. “You two have a good time.

“But not _too_ good of a time!” Stark exclaimed as I pulled Peter out of our apartment.

When we were outside, I sighed in relief and looked back at Peter, who still looked starstruck. “I’m so sorry about that,” I muttered, my cheeks flushing red. “And I don’t talk about you every waking moment in case Stark gave you a different impression.”

Peter chuckled. “Damn. I was really excited for a moment. But, wow, you’re family is – wow. It’s like, they’re almost too good to be true.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing offensive by that, I should probably say, but I mean, your parents weren’t very angry when I, uh, snuck into your room in the middle of the night, which sounds wrong on principle. Your dad is a freaking ultimate fighter, your mom is – well that doesn’t matter. And Tony Stark is practically your uncle! Do you know how awesome that is?” Peter exclaimed.

I shrugged. “I mean, I guess they do a lot for me.” I quickly changed the subject. “What movie are we going to watch?”

“There are a few movies out that we can watch. There’s one that I think is lovey-dovey, romantic comedy movie, which looks alright; this post-apoctolyptic movie with Will Smith. And then, there was this one really awesome action movie that I was kind of excited for! I know Keanu Reeves is in it. I don’t think he’s the main character but I know he’s in it,” Peter rambled.

“Who’s Keanu Reeves?” I asked.

“What?” Peter gasped.

Stark groaned. “He’s a big actor, Wanda. You’re supposed to know who he is. You are _from America,_ are you not?”

“Oh, sorry, I just – I thought you said someone else,” I said quickly.

Peter didn’t think much of it, which was something that I liked about him; he didn’t dwell on some of the stupid things that I said. “So, does that movie sound good? Or, I mean, we can always make a decision at the movie theater. Really, we can go to whatever movie you think sounds the most interesting.”

I smiled. “I love a good action movie.”

Peter smiled a toothy grin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed getting to see more background on Wanda's life. In the next chapter, you'll learn more!


	12. Wanda Maximoff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wanda and Peter go to the movies together.

Chapter Twelve: Wanda Maximoff

The movie theater was only a twenty minute walk from my apartment and, as we strolled casually down the street, I could see Clint a little ways behind; I had to admit that, for someone as perceptive as Peter, I was amazed he never once noticed that Clint was mysteriously around us every time we went somewhere. The movie theater itself was large and people were bustling in and out to get inside. Peter was smart enough to have gotten the tickets in advanced so we could skip the long lines and go straight inside. Since Peter bought the tickets, I _refused_ to let Peter buy the popcorn and drinks. We waited in line for almost ten minutes, and the entire time we argued about it. When we reached the front of the line, I nearly had to push Peter over before putting some of the money that Steve gave me onto the counter.

Peter and I settled into the middle of the movie theater, which was relatively deserted beyond an elderly couple sitting in the front, a family of two parents and three kids, and then finally Clint a few rows behind us with Laura. For a second, we made eye contact and he gave a curt nod before turning back to look at the movie screen. Laura smiled at me and I returned that gesture; Peter didn’t seem to notice the interaction between myself and Clint and Laura. Instead, Peter seemed perfectly distractedly with the commercials playing loudly. He leaned against his seat, setting his drink into his cup holder and putting the popcorn between the two of us to share.

The beginning of the movie was relatively engaging with its witty dialogue, talented actors and the plot’s relative believability. Even the romance between the main character and his wife at home wasn’t cheesy like most movies but genuine. However, the scene changed from romance to an action sequence. The main character had gotten into his car and was racing down some road until he careened out in front of a playground with swings sets and children and a lake. A gunfight ensued. Civilians were scrambling to get out of the way.

It just looked all too familiar.

And there I was, cowering behind a dumpster in the streets of Sokovia, shivering, pulling my legs closer to my chest. I had been there for two days now since Pietro was off looking for a way to contact federal agents, really anyone that could help us. I’ve only had an apple and a small bag of trail mix that I purchased from the store in the past two days, but I was used to not eating a lot. My normally small frame was even more emaciated. While we’ve tried countless ways to escape Sokovia, every time we do our efforts are ruined by Hydra. This seemed to be our most promising lead but Pietro being away for two days made me worry that he was never going to come back.

I heard the sound of footsteps approaching. Gasping, I scooted toward the trash cans as I tried to conceal myself. I was small enough so that I could hardly be seen but my heart was beating so loudly and my breath was hitching that whoever was approaching me would hear me. The figure stopped in front of me and pulled away one of the trashcans I was hiding behind.

I looked up. “Pietro,” I gasped in relief.

My brother was standing above me, his face wide with concern, though that expression was practically his baseline appearance. He helped me up from the ground and into a gentle hug where he a pressed a soft kiss onto my forehead. As I pulled away from him, I took in his appearance: he had a small gash on his forehead and the scars on his neck looked more prominent in the direct sunlight but he seemed relatively unharmed. The skin around his eyes looked aged by a thousand years and I could tell that he was genuinely exhausted. He had lost weight and his muscles were much smaller than they used to be.

“You were gone for so long…” I whispered, my eyes watering with relief.

Pietro smiled. He wiped off some of the tears trickling down my cheek. “I know, I know, and I’m sorry. But Hydra was on my tail. I had to lead them astray.” I looked around, suddenly very terrified. Pietro shook his head. “It’s okay. It’s okay. We’re safe for now.”

“Did the lead work?” I asked.

Pietro nodded. “Yes. But first…” Pietro pulled out a small loaf of bread from inside his bag and then two small bananas. He broke the piece of bread and divided up the food. My stomach cramping up with the desire to eat, I tore the food from Pietro’s hand and tore off a piece of bread. “Eat slowly,” Pietro reminded. “Did you eat the food I left for you?”

“Yeah,” I lied. I didn’t need to tell Pietro that someone had stolen it from me and what I had to do to get enough money to pay for a little bit of food. “What about the-”

“It paid off,” Pietro interrupted. “The number the informant gave us paid off. I got a hold of a couple American agents in the CIA, I believe. They’ll be coming to pick us up tomorrow at a water park five miles from here. They said they wanted to meet at a public place.”

I knew which water park Pietro was referring to. “But – but we won’t be able to pay to get in.”

Pietro shook his head. “They said not to worry. Our names will be on the VIP List. Prepaid ticket and everything. We’ll get in.”

“And what are we supposed to do when we get inside? How we will know it’s them?” I asked.

“There’s – there’s a phrase. _The snake says goodbye at midnight._ Remember it. If something happens to me–,” Pietro said, his eyes suddenly becoming very dark.

I shook my head. “Nothing is going to happen to you.”

I could tell that Pietro looked skeptical but he didn’t say anything further. We spent the rest of the night leaning against the wall trying to pass the time as we waited for the next day to come. Other than Pietro’s watch, we had no sense of keeping time; we weren’t even sure what day it was. It was comforting to know that Pietro was sleeping beside me, his arm curled around me as I leaned into his chest. We stayed there the entire night, well-hidden and far off the beaten track where no one would find us. When the next day came, Pietro managed to shoplift a sandwich, one of the largest meals that we’ve had in a month, which we shared.

I was impatient nearly the entire day as I waited, and I could tell that Pietro felt the same way so when it was time to leave, I nearly jumped with joy. Pietro tried to give me a confident smile, took my hand and together we slowly walked outside of the alley and merged with the everyday traffic in the street. We hunched together, pressing our shoulders against each other as we made our way swiftly to the water park. Following Pietro’s instructions of when he described the proper way to go on the run, I kept my face composed and made sure my body wasn’t trembling too visibly. _We were supposed to be going to the water park. We were no one special. We were just a brother and a sister going to the water park._

When we reached the water park and the gates came to view, I saw the lines wrap around the sidewalk with parents impatiently waiting with their phones out and children jumping up and down and looking through the gates to see the rides. Compared to the other lines, the VIP line, labeled such by a big green sign at the top of the gate, was considerably shorter. And as we reached closer to the gate, the more terrified I became.

Pietro, realizing this, stopped me. He brushed his hand against my cheek. “I need you to be strong right now. If we get through this, we’ll be safe. Remember, we belong here.”

I nodded. I took his hand and pushed toward the line. As we stepped into line, I tried not to make eye contact with anyone in line in fear of drawing attention to myself; Pietro took the opposite approach as he spoke with the person in front of us, laughing. When we reached the front of the line, Pietro calmly gave the worker behind the counter aliases that I could only assume S.H.I.E.L.D. came up with. The worker nodded, pushed the metal gate open and we walked inside. Immediately, the smell of chlorine, cotton candy and other fast food hit me like a bulldozer. Water slides that twisted and turned and shot in different directions could be seen for as far as the eye could see, each ride different, painted with vibrant colors. Loud, thumping music blended in with the screaming kids as they were jerked back and forth by the water slides.

Pietro tightened his grip around my hand and together we pushed forward. According to Pietro, we were supposed to meet these federal agents at this clown slide on the other side of the amusement park. The clown slide, inspired by the Mad Hatter, was perhaps one of the most terrifying rides in the water park, not just because of the steep drops. The clowns displayed in the ride, the entrance being a large clown’s face – it was nearly scarring to small children. They wore tattered, blood-smeared clothes, had glowing yellow slits for eyes above a twisted smile with mangly hair. As we approached the ride, screams echoing from inside filled my ears. My heart started to race and I wrapped my arm around Pietro’s arm a little tighter. Pietro pulled me closer, wrapping his arm securely and protectively around my waist. He kissed my forehead as he pulled me toward an empty green bench.

“When did the American agents say they’d be here?” I asked quietly.

Pietro looked at his watch. “Soon.”

So we sat there on the bench, in the heat of a Sokovian late-July night. While I knew there were still people filing into waterpark, the lines started to shorten and it was slowly emptying out as the time ticked by. I watched with a hint of jealously as parents rounded up their kids with overjoyed expressions on their faces, holding cotton candy and trinkets in their hands. A normal life like that was nothing short of fantasy.

Swallowing my emotions, I scanned the area for anyone that looked remotely like a federal agent. Based upon the movies that Pietro and I would watch once in a blue moon or from the times that I saw a ‘business meeting’ when Pietro was still in Hydra, I could only imagine what an American federal agent would look like. While I always pictured a CIA agent to wear black suits and sunglasses like Will Smith in _Men in Black_ , I was sure that these federal agents would try to blend in with the scenery, perhaps slacks and a dress shirt. Twice my size. A serious face with a severe look that suggested they could kill without batting an eyelash.

Pietro said the two federal agents would meet us at this bench. Every time someone passed by close to us or an adult sat by the bench, I was tempted to look at them, my eyes wide with hope. But no one ever uttered that code – _the snake says goodbye at midnight_ – that Pietro and the federal agents came up with. When the park was rapidly clearing out, as I leaned against the bench, my shoulder drooping, I heard the sound of footsteps from behind Pietro and me. I grabbed Pietro’s hand. This had to be it. There would be no reason for a person to stop when most people are getting ready to leave. We were going to be free. We were going to be safe. We were going to be…

“You two are _very_ hard to find,” came a chilling voice from behind us.

My blood went cold and I felt as though I had fallen off of a tree: the wind was knocked out of me, my head throbbing. I recognized that voice; I had nightmares about that voice. Pietro, eyes wide and face drained of color, looked just as terrified as me. Gripping my arm tightly, Pietro turned around to see who had approached us. He gasped, pulled us to our feet and practically threw me behind him. I peaked past Pietro and my horrors were quickly confirmed: Baron von Strucker was standing behind us, a gun clearly visible from the pocket of his large black trench coat. Behind him was Brock Rumlow, dressed in black as well. He was watching us with an angry snarl on his face.

“Thought I was dead, did you?” Strucker sneered. He and Rumlow slowly walked around the bench as Pietro pushed me away. “Don’t be too disappointed, though. I have scars if you’re interested.”

“I – I shot you in the chest three times,” Pietro gasped.

The sneer on Strucker’s face faded. “When I trained you as a Hydra agent, I thought I made it clear that you _shoot in the head,_ which is exactly what will happen to you two when we’re finished with you.”

“Among other things,” Rumlow said. His eyes caught mine and I shuddered.

I felt Pietro’s muscles tense. “You look at her again and you’ll wish you’re the one getting shot in the head,” Pietro growled.

“You aren’t in the position to defend that stupid bitch!” Rumlow snarled. He took an angry step forward and we nearly fell over as we retreated backwards. “You’re a traitor! A traitor! You should have just handed your sister over two years ago. At least _you_ would still be alive.”

I looked around, desperately trying to catch the eye of anyone passing by. Of course everyone was too absorbed with their own lives to even glance in our direction, let alone consider that there was something remotely wrong. Our only hope of walking away alive was the federal agents that were supposed to help us. However, as I scanned the water park, there was no figure approaching us rapidly, no sign of anyone that was willing to come help us.

“Looking for the federal agents, child?” Strucker said.

“How did you find us?” Pietro snapped before I could say something.

Strucker just laughed. “Hydra is everywhere. You may have been able to stay hidden in the shadows for two years but not anyone. You’ll be long gone by the time that those federal agents show up.” He and Rumlow continued to press forward. “Now, are you two going to come willingly or do we need to shoot a limb?”

As Pietro and I slowly backed away, something hard pressed against my back. It was an empty metal cart. Thinking fast, Pietro grabbed the metal cart and pushed it into Rumlow and Strucker. Rumlow scattered at the right moment but Strucker was hit full force with the cart and toppled backwards. Pietro grabbed my hand and flung me forward. “RUN!” And we began racing toward the entrance. Pietro was always faster than me and it took every ounce of effort to keep up with him. What few people were left in the water park turned to stare. I almost knocked over two children who were taking a photo. People started yelling and pointing as we raced through the water park. We were almost at the entrance until a man so massive he could hardly qualify as human stepped in front of us. His shoulders were broad, his jaw-line sharp. Thanos, another one of the Red Skull’s goons. He was simply massive. He pulled out a handgun and pointed it at us. As soon as a gun was in sight, the screams started. People began fleeing in every direction, knocking over stands and even some people. Pietro grabbed Thanos’s arm and they tussled for the gun.  

“Go!” Pietro yelled. I hesitated; I couldn’t leave him. “GO!”

I refused to listen. I looked around for any sort of weapon: the closest thing to one was a large umbrella that detached itself from one of the knocked over carts. I picked it up and hit Thanos in the shoulder with all my might. He let go of Pietro, who had Pietro in a choke-hold. Thanos was big enough so that he didn’t fall over but I hit him hard enough to make him lose his balance. I swung the umbrella again, this time at Thanos’s head. He toppled over, his gun clattering to the ground. Pietro, his lip dripping of blood, got up and ripped the gun from Thanos’s limp hand. Pietro took my hand.

“You’re welcome!” I said.

“Next time,” Pietro panted, “You _listen_ to me!”

The waterpark was now deserted. We were nearly at the gates, the sound of sirens going off behind us. We could make it. We were nearly there until–

 _BANG!_ A gun went off behind us. Pietro seized my shoulders and nearly threw me behind a trash can. He curled up beside me, fumbling with the gun in his hand. I peered around the side of the trashcan: Rumlow, Strucker and now two other agents wearing ski masks were advancing on us. One of the faceless men began open firing with semi-automatics. Bullets ricocheted off the gate and left bullet holes in the benches. Pietro wrapped his arms around me and pulled me close, as though to shield me from the bullets.

“Scarlet, I need you to listen to me, just this once.” Pietro took the sidearm that he kept with him religiously and a piece of paper and put both into my hand. “I’m going to distract them and once you’re safe, you call the number on this piece of paper. It’s the number that connected me to the federal agents. You _find_ them and you get yourself out of here. When I tell you to run, you have to run.”

I looked into his eyes as I quickly understood the underlying message of what Pietro was saying to me. I shook my head, tears welling in my eyes. “No. No! I am not going to leave you! You said we were in this together!”

Pietro’s eyes softened and I could see a smile play at the edges of his lips. “You don’t think your big brother can handle himself?”

I gave him a watery smile. “Pietro, I–”

“How touching,” said a rough voice.

It was one of the men in masks, pointing a gun at us. Pietro held his hands as though to surrender. He quickly pointed his gun and, after an earsplitting _bang_ , the Hydra agent lay dead in front of us. Pietro took the semi-automatic gun from the dead agent and started shooting blindly at Strucker, Rumlow and the last Hydra agent. They scattered. “Scar, RUN! I’ll be right behind you!”

I got to my feet and scrambled toward the exit, clinging onto Pietro’s promise. My lungs were burning and my calves were throbbing but I had never moved so fast in my life. I was almost out until I heard someone cry out in pain behind me. I spun around, eyes wide. Pietro was staggering over, blood gushing from his leg. My brother had been shot.

“PIETRO!”

Strucker was standing over Pietro. Strucker said something to Pietro that I couldn’t quite make out and then stepped on my brother’s shot leg. I couldn’t take it. I couldn’t let my brother die. I pointed the handgun at Strucker and fired. My aim was true. Strucker collapsed beside Pietro, a bullet in his head. Pietro pulled himself off the ground and limped toward me. My hands were shaking so badly that as I shot at the two remaining Hydra agents, I missed them both. I kept shooting until I suddenly couldn’t – the gun was jammed.

Rumlow chuckled. He pointed his gun at me and I waited for him to pull the trigger. We had made it so far… I wanted so badly to breath the fresh air of freedom again but, now, as I faced death, I suddenly realized that I was okay with it. I was ready to stop running, and so as Rumlow aimed toward my head, I closed my eyes, prepared.

Until something very hard knocked me onto the ground. Gasping for breath, I slowly opened my eyes, only to wish that I hadn’t. My worst nightmare was quickly confirmed. Pietro lay before me, his arms outstretched as though he was reaching my hands. Dead.

I can’t describe the feeling of looking at my brother, blood seeping from him. The loss of breath and comprehension of the world around you is a reaction that can only be understood by people who have lost family and that people should wish to never feel. Dying myself would have been better than knowing that Pietro was gone.

“Guess it’s just you and-,” Rumlow stopped mid-sentence. He started to convulse and then fall face first in front of me.

A young woman wearing a jean shirt, black pants and boots, pointing her wrist directly where Rumlow was standing. Her fiery red hair was blowing in the wind like a catalogue photo shoot. Her eyes scanned her surroundings before her eyes stopped on me. The woman pressed a button on the headset in her ear and said, “This is Widow. I’ve got the package.”

* * *

Natasha’s face morphed back into the faces on the screen. I looked around, drawing in sharp gasps. Beside me, Peter’s eyes were glued onto the screen as he was eating up every single word and movement that was happening. I gripped onto the seat. I tried to steady my breathing and calm my racing heart that was thumping so loudly I thought it was going to leap from my chest. I followed the techniques Sam gave me but it never seemed to be enough. Tears welled in my eyes. I had to get out of here.

I stood up. I couldn’t sit here anymore, not when I couldn’t find it in myself to calm down and put on a façade that I was alright. I mumbled a feeble apology to Peter and then to the people sitting around me as I got up and rushed out of the movie theater. The world was tipping over; I could barely keep my own two feet planted on the ground. It was like everything that I done to repress the memories – the talking, the journaling, the tips that Sam gave me – was starting to slip away. The walls that I put up to keep myself sane were starting to crumble. The façade that I made sure I put up, at least when I wasn’t around Steve or Nat, was starting to disappear. Everything was hitting me like a wave crashing down on rocks. It was powerful. It was painful. It was devastating.

“Wanda?” Peter asked. I turned to him, my eyes still stinging with tears. I must have looked so stupid, standing in the middle of the movie theater, tears streaming down my face. “Wanda? Are you okay? What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” I whispered, wiping away my tears. God, it was so hard to lie all the time.

Peter shook his head. “Come on, _something_ has to be wrong, Wanda.” Behind his words, I knew he meant something else. I knew he was talking about all the times he noticed when I wasn’t quite there. He took my hand and pulled me toward one of the benches. “Do you want to go home? I’d understand.”

“Yeah, I like that idea. You aren’t looking so good, Wanda,” Stark commented.

I swallowed down a sob. “I’m okay,” I said. Of course I wasn’t okay. I’m far from okay. But Peter didn’t need to know that. Or Stark. Or Natasha. Or the teenager with the bad afro and braces selling popcorn at the concessions stands. It was just one more lie, a lie that I was so used to telling that it came more natural to me than the truth. “I’m okay, Peter. Just give me a minute. You can go back into the theater and I’ll meet you there.”

Peter sat down beside. “W-was it the movie?”

“No, it – I just…” I faltered. My mind was drawing a blank. There was no well-crafted excuse that I could think of to explain what just transpired. “I’m sorry, Peter. I just – I should go.” I stood up. I fished out the twenty-dollar bill that Steve gave me and pressed it into Peter’s hand. “It’s for the tickets. I’m sorry – I just – I can’t do this.”

I turned around. It was still disorientating to walk.

“Hey, whoa, whoa, whoa!” Peter shouted. He grabbed a hold of my hand. His hand was warm to the touch but I still flinched away. “Can’t do what? Watch a movie? _That’s fine!_ It’s just a movie. Take your money back!” He took my shaking hand again to put the twenty back into my fist. He did so gently, pressing my ailing fingers around the dollar bill kindly. “I can go get a refund from the cashier people. How about we go back to my place? You can finally meet Aunt May. She even made homemade cookies.”

“I–…”

“Come on, Wanda,” Peter said, practically begging now. “Aunt May will be disappointed if you don’t come.” He started walking toward the door, still looking concerned.

“I just…” I started, in disbelief.

Peter shrugged. “It doesn’t matter what just happened. You should have seen me when Uncle Ben passed away. I had a full on meltdown when Ned took a drink from my water bottle. Why don’t you wait outside while I talk to the cashier?”

I nodded, bewildered. How could any ordinary teenage boy be willing to put up with someone like me? Not that I’ve had much experience with _people_ , no less a high school boy, but from what I’ve understood about the human kind, other people’s problems are never your concern if they don’t have to be. Any other person would pretend to care for the sake of appearances (it’d look bad if they just left me out there), but just looking at Peter's eyes, it was a sign of  _compassion._ It was like he _understood_ that not everything was picture perfect in my life and that was _okay_.

I looked through the windows to see Peter practically begging the person working the registers, who looked more than skeptical. The cashier muttered something into his walkie and a few moments later a woman, taller and much older than the cashier, came to the front desk. Peter exchanged a few words with her, pointed toward my general direction and then looked back at the lady. The woman nodded a few times before putting something into the register and fishing out some of the money that Peter had given her. As he was leaving, he turned around to wave before opening the door and smiling. “See? Told you I would get that refund.”

“It wasn’t too much trouble?”

Peter shrugged. “Doesn’t matter.”

“I don’t want to be a burden…” I muttered, though I already knew that I was.

Peter shook his head. “You aren’t. Honestly, this isn’t the first time a girl had a mental breakdown while we’re on a date together,” he said, poking my ribs, jokingly. “My house isn’t too far from the movie theater. If you want I can get a cab or we could walk. It’s up to you.”

“Let’s walk,” I said. “Fresh air would be nice.”

Peter nodded. “Yeah, it would be.”

We took a left instead of a right away from the movie theater, which would have been the direction to go if I were going home. The farther we got from the movie theater, the darker and less well-lit this part of town became. Familiarity slipped away as the movie theater grew more and more out of sight, and uneasiness settled in. I took deep breathes and reassured myself that it was okay: Peter walked down these steps everyday _and_ by himself without a problem. Still, an area that I didn’t know was an area that I didn’t like. As if our minds were linked, Peter seemed to sense the problem. His hands brushed against my mine in comforting sort of way. When I didn’t pull away or flinch, Peter hesitantly slipped his hand into mine. His hands were warm to the touch. They were calloused, probably from inventing the next rocket or whatever Peter did in his spare time, but they felt good. It felt natural.

Peter stopped short when we reached his apartment. The buildings around his apartment looked, at least to a common bystander, visibly nicer: the buildings were made out of steel, clean and polished, the balconies were coated with fresh black paint and the buildings were much taller. Peter’s apartment was small, almost square-like, and made entirely out of brick. Old-fashioned metal staircases wrapped around the sides of Petet’s apartment. His house didn’t look as expensive as the other buildings, or even my own home, but there was a humble look to it that I greatly appreciated.

He was already waiting at the front door by the time that I went to follow him. Quickly, he flipped open the pad, typed in the code and then pushed the front door open. Inside, the apartment smelled faintly of musky woods and the vacant front desk made the apartment look almost eerie. Peter smiled and gestured toward the elevator, which took us up to the sixth floor. Once there, we didn’t have to walk far until we reached his front door. Peter fumbled with his pockets until he reached his key. He unlocked the front door and held it open for me. His apartment had personality to it and life to it that I could appreciate. While Natasha kept everything in our apartment looking perfect, sparkling clean counters, not a single speck of dust on the ground, Peter’s apartment looked lived in. It wasn’t necessarily _dirty_ by any means but I could appreciate some of the dirty dishes that were in the sink, the grime in between the tiles on the walls and, perhaps my favorite feature of his kitchen, the mossy green cabinets and the white tiles. Two swiveling chairs stood in front of an island with a stove on top. In front of the kitchen was a small living room with matching green couches, a rustic looking coffee table and a plasma television in front.

Peter threw his jacket on the coat rack by the front door and offered to take mine. “May?!” He exclaimed as he gestured me into the kitchen. “May?”

“Peter?” Came a woman’s voice followed by footsteps. She emerged from around the corner, and I could see the resemblance between her and Peter immediately: the defined features, the same twinkle in the eyes that Peter had. Donning a stained apron, this woman had the appearance of a woman who had worked harder than anyone could have expected with the wrinkles around her eyes and a few gray strands of hair. Her loose brown hair was pulled into a loose bun, strands of which were falling out from the sides. But despite some of her imperfections, this woman, whom I could only assume was the Aunt May, was beautiful.

“Peter what are you doing here?” She asked, reaching his side.

“Whoa,” Stark said over comms, incredulous. “Should’ve called her Aunt Hottie.” I tried to keep myself from groaning out loud.

“Is this…” Aunt May trailed off as she turned her attention toward me.

Peter nodded. “Uh, Aunt May, this is Peter. No – not Peter. I’m Peter. This is Wanda. Uh, Wanda Maximoff. She’s the girl from Oregon that I told you about.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet the girl that Peter talks about _all the time_ ,” Aunt May said, laughing. She extended her hand and I took it. Her hand was warm, which was a stark contrast to how chilly and albeit sweaty mine was.

“May,” Peter groaned. “I don’t talk about her all the time.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Aunt May said. She pulled out the stool in front of the island and sat down in front of us. “What are you guys doing home so early? I thought the movie didn’t end for another forty five minutes to an hour.”

Peter and I looked at each other for a long second.

“The movie wasn’t really our thing,” Peter said quickly and gave Aunt May a very serious look. As though they could communicate telepathically, Aunt May got up and went to the fridge where she began rummaging through the inside. Peter looked back at me and smiled very uncomfortably. “Uh, Aunt May?” He said after a long while, “What are you doing?”

She turned around, holding a platter with what looked like meatloaf on top. “I know you two just ate but food always makes someone feel a little bit better.”

“May…” Peter started.

“It’s okay,” I said, quickly. “Peter and I could do with some food.”

Aunt May’s eyes glowed with my response and she quickly divvied out a slice for the both of us. “This was Peter’s favorite when he was younger – and I suppose it still is! I’ll just heat this up for you and then I’ll get out of your hair. I promise!”

Peter pulled the stool in front of the island open for me and I took it, smiling. Aunt May finished putting the plates of food in front of us, and laid out a couple of condiments and forks. “Do you two want anything to drink? Water? Juice? Hot chocolate?” My eyes lit up and Aunt May noticed immediately. “Hot chocolate it is.”

“Aunt May,” Peter said, getting up, “I can take care of it.”

“Are you sure?” Aunt May asked.

“Yes,” Peter grumbled.

Aunt May laughed. “Okay, I’ll just get out of your guys’ hair. I’ll be in my bedroom if you need anything – more food or money to get ice cream.” She gave me another warm smile and then left briskly.

When we were alone, we sat together in silence for a long moment while we ate the meatloaf together. It didn’t taste like meat that I had tried before but, no matter how unique the flavor was, I thought it was delicious and the hot chocolate we eventually got round to having only made this second dinner even better. But after we were finished eating, once Peter had cleared the plate and came to sit beside me again, he brought up what happened at the movie. “So, uh, are you feeling better after…” As I dropped my gaze to the floor, Peter quickly trailed off. “Um, sorry, maybe I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

I sighed. “No, it’s okay. It’s not everyday someone has a full blown panic attack in the middle of the movie theater,” I muttered.

Peter chuckled softly. “No, I guess not. Do you – do you want to talk about what happened?”

I wanted so badly to say yes, but I couldn’t quite express what had happened in detail to Peter without lying. And I didn’t want to lie about why I was so upset – not about something like that.

“It’s okay,” Peter said quickly when I stayed silent.

“I’m sorry,” I finally. “I guess I kind of ruined the mood tonight.”

Peter shook his head. “No, you didn’t. I mean, you still came over to my house…and you don’t have to talk about what happened until you’re ready. But talking about it does help.”

 _I know_ , I thought to myself. _Believe me, I want nothing more than to tell you everything, every detail about what’s going on._ “There’s just a lot of stuff going on in my life right now, Peter. _”_

“I understand,” Peter said. “But I’m – I’m a very good listener in case you were wondering.”

I kept my eyes on the ground, wringing my hands back and forth as though it could properly distract me from how gut-wrenchingly kind Peter was and how cold I was being in return. “Is it just you and Aunt May?” I asked to change the subject.

Peter nodded. “My parents – they, uh, they died when I was young and uh, Uncle Ben was…Uncle Ben was killed in a robbery a couple years ago. Things got pretty rough, especially between Aunt May and I.” When I looked at him, I was completely impressed and admirable of Peter. He wasn’t looking at the ground and trying to avoid eye contact like I do every time a topic gets a little uncomfortable. He was looking right at me, as though his emotions weren’t something that made him uncomfortable. I found that  _brave._

“I’m sorry,” I said, stupidly. I had no idea what to say.

Peter smiled. “It’s okay. I’m learning to cope. I’m just glad that Aunt May is here for me. I’ve put her through hell and back again but she cares about me. I can’t imagine what life would be like if I didn’t have at least person still left in my family.”

“What was Uncle Ben like?” I asked.

“Pretty strict. He always gave me this ‘power, responsibility’ speech thing. He was always on my ass about grades and curfew… I guess I just never appreciated it until he was gone,” Peter muttered.

Peter’s gaze diverted to the kitchen counter, giving me the opportunity to stare at him with complete awe; he’s been more honest with me than I have to anyone for the past three years. I could finally relate to another person, beyond just Pietro who was _gone_. There was someone else in my life that understood what it was like to lose the people you considered to be the center of your universe, and, looking at Peter’s face, I wanted nothing more than just turn off comms and be honest for once. _My parents died too,_ I thought to myself. _They died when I was six years old after being shot down in the streets during a military coup. I sat beside them in the hospital bed as the monitors flatlined. That day was the worst day of my life. Possibly worse than when I saw Pietro get shot._

But that information was never meant to be told to another soul, other than Steve and Natasha, who practically forced it out of me. I could never tell Peter something so personal as the reason why I’m in New York, going under the name of Wanda Maximoff – not my real name.

“You know, I know that boys – especially high school boys – tend to have the reputation that we’re not exactly observant, or really all that good with understanding girls, especially confusing ones like yourself. But, Wanda, I do notice _some_ things. I notice how you’re sometimes sitting in front of me at lunch, smiling and laughing and having a good time, and then you’re just not there anymore. Physically, you’re still in front of us, but your eyes are a million miles away. And in these moments, you just look _scared_. I don’t know what’s going on in your mind, and I don’t want you to think that you have to tell me either but just know that you aren’t alone. I saw it at the football game. And again tonight…” Peter muttered.

I couldn’t find the energy to smile, and this wasn’t a comment that I thought it be appropriate to smile at. But there was something powerful about the words that Peter said. “Peter, there’s a lot of things that I’m trying to get over right now.”

Peter shrugged, not in a dismissive way, though. “That’s okay,” he muttered. “Just know that I’m always here. And so are Ned and Michelle. We’re your friends.” Silence followed. We sat there for a little bit until Peter very quietly said, “I like you Wanda.” I looked over at him: his cheeks were flushed red and his eyes were trained on the ground. “I don’t know what you’re going through and honestly it doesn’t matter because it won’t change how I see you.”

“Peter…” I whispered. I was at a loss of words.

“I’m sorry,” he said, quickly, rubbing his temples together. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

I shook my head. “No, no, it’s not that. I–I like you, too,” I finally said, and it felt genuinely nice. It was more than just three words – it was one of the first _honest_ and _real_ things that I had said to anyone in what felt like years.

There was something in the way that Peter’s eyes bored into my own that suggested a sense of security. It was much different than Peter’s normal wide-eyed and bushy-tailed appearance, but it wasn’t too serious in the sense that it made me uncomfortable. In fact, it gave me confidence in Peter. Almost like the more serious his eyes grew as our conversation progressed, the stronger our relationship became.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was really excited to be able to go into detail about what happened to Pietro. Hope you enjoyed this chapter!


	13. Steve Rogers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Sam survey an area together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's taken so long to post a new chapter. Life happened but I hope you enjoy this!

Chapter Thirteen: Steve Rogers

When Tony and Clint told me what happened to Wanda at the movie theater, concerned didn’t seem strong enough of a word. Wanda was more to me than just another asset that I was supposed to protect. While her literal safety was of course important, I felt as though Natasha and I have both failed to check her mental safety. There was no question that everything that had happened to Wanda was enough to ruin any sane person. I’ve had my fair experience with soldiers coming back from war and even struggled with it myself enough to know that PTSD was something that should be treated as soon as possible. I knew that Wanda was struggling with nightmares, no matter how hard she tried to pretend she didn’t have them, and no one, not even this Peter boy, missed it when she slipped out of reality. When my PTSD was more severe – it was when I had just gotten back from the war – I was prescribed an arm’s length of medication and had regular appointments with therapists. It was intrusive, painful and I hated the entire process. Wanda probably wouldn’t like it any better.

It was nice that Sam was here. He had experience in the VA and was better at all the doctor therapeutic stuff, a place where Natasha and I were altogether useless. He understood what Wanda was going through and the best way to handle the situation. I knew that when they were driving home from school, Wanda could be free to talk to Sam about the nightmares but I wasn’t sure if that was enough. Sam came over that Saturday night almost immediately after he found out. We weren’t sure what time Wanda was going to be home or if she would want to talk to Sam but I thought it was important for him to be here just in case. Once here, Tony and Natasha fully briefed me on what had happened; Sam was already perusing through the notes he had taken on PTSD and all of Wanda’s old files.  

“I don’t know, Steve, I’m no doctor. Hell, I’m barely qualified to be Wanda’s therapist,” Sam said. Natasha, Tony, Clint, Sam and myself were all sitting around the kitchen table. “Maybe we should contact Fury. I mean, there’s a list of medications we could give Wanda but I’m not sure if that’s the best option for her.”

I sighed. “Why don’t you send those files you have on Wanda over to Fury and we’ll see what happens.”

“Will do, man,” Sam said, getting up. “I’m assuming one of you guys have a computer around here.”

Natasha nodded. “Let me go grab one,” she said. She went into our bedroom and returned swiftly, an Apple computer tucked between her arms.

She gave it to Sam, who went to sit in the living room. “I’ll be over here. And don’t worry, I won’t leave until she gets back,” Sam said. “Where is she anyway?”

“She’s at her little friend’s house,” Tony said.

“Peter?” Sam asked. “Yeah, he’s good kid. Got a lot of potential for the future.”

“True that,” Tony said. “I wasn’t kidding when I said that I read this kid’s work. He’s pretty dang intelligent – not as smart as me but he’s getting there.”

It was nice hearing everyone praise Peter. Even though the only time that I really interacted with this boy was when he barged into Wanda’s room in the middle of the night, everything that I’ve heard about him seems more than positive. Natasha and Tony, who’ve been watching Wanda and Peter the most, both agree that Peter’s good for Wanda. He respects her, understands that she needs space at some points and never pushes her too far to share details about herself. Sam has said nothing but good things about this kid. And even though I knew Peter was the reason Wanda got in trouble, Wanda did have a point when she said Peter picked a fight to help someone else. It was a valiant trait, the ability to stand up to a bully. That dynamic between Wanda and Peter that day on the courtyard with Flash reminded me a lot of Bucky and me back in the day.

“Does she seem alright?” Natasha asked. “At Peter’s house, I mean?” It was an ordinary question but there was something about Natasha’s eyes that suggested there was more meaning behind the question. I didn’t push it. I’m sure that if Natasha knew something that I didn’t, it was for a reason.

“Yeah,” Tony said.

Natasha nodded. “Good.”

It gave me peace at mind to know that Wanda was okay and, feeling much more at ease, I settled into one of the kitchen chairs where we all waited for Wanda to come home. Tony and Clint were the only ones that remained on comms, which was nice. It gave Wanda privacy and the rest of us the ability to relax for a moment. I wasn’t sure what had happened at Peter’s house but, judging by Tony’s half-amused expression and the smile on Wanda’s face when she walked back in the door, something good happened. Sam, who wouldn’t take no for an answer, eventually convinced Wanda to confide in Sam about what happened. The two of them went out on the balcony with blankets and tea. We turned off comms per Sam’s request but stayed alert, watching them in case something were to happen. I couldn’t say that all was well, even after Sam assured me that the talk with Wanda that night was promising. I was still worried about her, Natasha more so than I was. I went to bed that night hoping that Fury would be responsive with what to do with Wanda.

The following morning I routinely checked to see if Fury had any news for me. There were two messages, one regarding Wanda’s PTSD. He agreed that it was vital for Wanda’s testimony for her to remain cognitive so he agreed to have a psychologist monitor the situation to help come up with the proper medication and treatment that Wanda needed. I should have been grateful for Fury. He was trying to be proactive, but the reason why Fury was so dead set on getting Wanda a therapist angered me. He didn’t care about how Wanda felt. He cared because he wanted to have a reliable witness against Hydra. I shouldn’t be surprised, though. Why would Fury care? Fury also made it very clear that Wanda wasn’t to know about the psychologist so that it would be more accurate. The second file was an update on the situation with Scott Lang and any other possible leads on Hydra. Just like all the other ones, it was nothing but empty words. A smaller radius of places. Dead ends. Starting over again. Every time I open one, another tiny fragment of the hope that I once had dissipates.

Sighing, I closed my laptop and began to get dressed for the day. Since it was Sunday, both Natasha nor I needed to go into work that day, and so we gave Tony the day off on Wanda-duty. Wanda slept in, which wasn’t surprising given the fact that she and Sam talked for nearly hours last night. When she did wake up, she seemed much happier and in a much better mood than I expected her to be in. We sat around at the kitchen table where we ate breakfast and listened to Wanda tell us about her date last night. It was nice to listen to Wanda recount a part of her life that neither of us had intruded upon through our comms and surveillance. It was almost like we were her real parents, listening to our real kid talk about her first date. 

Sunday passed and Monday quickly set in. Monday was my day off and it was also my turn to be surveying Wanda with Tony. Even though Tony was busy running Stark Industries and I was at home, filling out loads of paperwork, researching more for S.H.I.E.L.D. and working on other such activities, it was nice to be on Wanda-duty. Given that I was lead on this mission, which carried along a lot of different responsibilities and the fact that my day job required my presence regularly, I rarely got the opportunity to see Wanda at school. Tony, I had to admit, was a lot more distracting than I had realized and Wanda’s friends, who I had never really met, seemed pretty great. Peter seemed especially good for Wanda. The first time Wanda saw Peter that Monday morning, she was rummaging through her locker when Peter rolled up on his skateboard and they began talking. At first I thought it was normal but then, as they started walking to their first, Peter slipped his hand into Wanda’s.

I set my coffee down that I had nurturing for the past thirty minutes and pulled the computer playing the surveillance closer to me. “Did I miss something here?”

“Wanda didn’t tell you?” Tony said. “Wanda, did you really think that you could hide a relationship from your cover father? That might work for real teenagers but not for our family!”

I could tell by looking extra carefully that Wanda was suppressing a smile.

I had to admit that I was surprised that Wanda hadn’t told Natasha or me Sunday morning because Tony did have point when he said that she couldn’t exactly hide a relationship with Peter from us. But for some reason, I found it almost humorous that Wanda did something like that. I remember Bucky told me about his relationship with – there were so many girls pining after him, it’s hard to keep track of their names – but I’m pretty sure this girl was named Dot. He tried to hide it from his mom and she was down right furious when she found out four months after they started dating. It was almost a normal teenage thing to do. And I loved that.

That following night once Wanda got home, Tony thought it would be an appropriate time for Wanda to tell Natasha, Clint and Sam. I wasn’t surprised with any of their reactions: Sam spewed something about how getting in a healthy relationship could help Wanda get past her PTSD; Natasha just laughed and said something along the lines of ‘it was about time’; Clint said some backhanded comment with an additional slew of expletives that made Tony burst into a rage of laughter and made me cringe. Nonetheless, there was a mutual sense of happiness for Wanda.

Days passed. No news from Fury about any psychological diagnosis and no good updates from Scott Lang. Wanda’s relationship with Peter continued to blossom, which was nice to see. Peter came over a couple days that following week to do homework together. He insisted on calling Natasha and me Ms. Romanoff and Mr. Rogers, respectively, always shook our hands every time we walked into the door and brought over a fresh patch of flowers when the ones he brought over on Saturday started dying. He cared about Wanda and I could tell that Wanda cared about him. Wanda laughed more, she joked around more, she could sleep easier. It was like Peter was breathing life back into her. She hadn’t asked about Scott Lang for a while. It was as though Wanda was starting to enjoy life again after years of hiding.

Of course, my days of Wanda-duty were limited because of my day job. Sometimes I enjoyed going to the _Times_ headquarter: getting to pretend that being a part of the _New York Times_ was a dream come true of mine. Drawing was a nice way for me to take my mind off of everything else that was going on, even if Pierce, the pain in the ass boss of mine, looked over my shoulder every day to make sure that I was keeping up with my deadlines. It made me wonder what would have happened if Peggy hadn’t died. Perhaps this is where I would have ended up.

I was thinking about Peggy more and more. I knew that it was better to think about her than try to forget that she existed, because if I did try to just forget her then it would be a dishonor to her memory. Once you die, that’s it. Your legacy is over. You become dirt in the ground and you’re just forgotten about. I couldn’t do that to Peggy. She was too brave of a woman to just pretend that she didn’t exist. Someone who had the ability the smile, even though the news from the doctor got worse and worse was someone who deserves a medal of honor. I always thought that I was pretty brave with my actions but Peggy was different. She hid her pain and lived every day like her last because one of those days would be. She made me laugh when I didn’t want to and accepted death a lot better than I did.

It was harder dealing with Peggy’s death recently, solely because the day she died was approaching. It was a day that I would never be able to forget, but one that I tried so hard to never have to relive. I wasn’t sure if it was my heightened senses as a result from my training in the military and in S.H.I.E.L.D. or the fact that Peggy’s death was such a significant part of my life – or both, for that matter – that made my memory of that day so explicit. In fact, that entire month – the worst month of my life, even worse then after I came back from the war with nothing but Bucky on my mind – was just one long vivid memory.

It had been a tough month. Peggy’s cancer was now in Stage Four. The doc gave us pamphlets on coping and a slew of different treatment options and medications. Our house, the little apartment that we could barely afford given Peggy's medical bills, was covered with these pamphlets. We had appointments almost every week. Nothing was working. Hope was virtually nonexistent. Everything around me that once brought me joy – smelling Peggy’s cooking, enjoying a glass of wine and drawing – was gone. Peggy never let me see her pain but I could tell behind the half-hearted smile and weary eyes, there were sheer pain and exhaust and fear. She always tried so hard to pretend that she was okay. Perhaps it was a front for me or perhaps the fake smile she put on everyday was just meant to _give her_ hope.

At that point, we tried every treatment possible: a replenishment of drugs more often than not, a long list of medications that brought forth nothing but painful failures, surgery removing one of the affected kidneys, chemotherapy even though we knew the percent rate of that being successful was low. It was one miserable let down after the other. The little family that either of us had left used to visit us more often at the beginning, used to call her for check ups, sometimes even covered the medical bills. Their help was all over. Besides a check every now and then, our family was just as sick of the disappointment as we were. The surgery and medication had taken its toll on Peggy’s appearance as well: a frail body with clothes that once fit but were now slipping off, a near gaunt face and thin wisps of hair instead of the luscious curls that Peggy had when I first met her. She was still beautiful to me.

A complication of stage four renal cancer included severe pain in bones and in the abdomen. Sometimes Peggy would have good days where she could move around, sit out in the sun, live as though her life wasn’t slipping out of her fingers. But on some days, she could hardly move. When the pain was beyond just intolerable I took her to the hospital to see if there was something that could help ease her pain. Those last few days of her life, the pain never subsided. I sat by her side in the hospital bed, holding her hand, crying into her shoulder when the news from the doctors was never any better.

When her death was on my mind, I used to escape to her grave. I would sometimes spend the whole day there, sitting in front and reading her favorite book out loud. Perhaps I wasn’t working to get over her death but made me feel a little bit better. But her grave wasn’t in New York and I couldn’t exactly just up and left. So, when the day Peggy day was finally upon me, a morbid looking November 9th, I couldn’t muster the energy to put a smile on my face and pretend that everything was okay. I went through the motions of taking a shower, making some breakfast, skimming through the news and checking Fury’s regular emails. When Wanda went off to school, I said my goodbyes and, once she was gone, slumped into a living room chair. My heart hurt and my head felt heavy. I rubbed my temples together, thoroughly exhausted.

“I haven’t seen you this down since our mission in New Orleans,” Natasha said. She brushed her fingers against my shoulders and went to sit down beside me. “What’s going on with you?”

I shrugged.

“What are you still doing here?” I asked. “I thought you had some job today.”

Natasha leaned more cozily into the couch, suggesting that she wasn’t going anywhere. “Since you called in sick from your day job – and yes, I noticed that – I thought that I could get a late start to mine. This woman’s a socialite. I think she can wait.”

“Doubt it. You don’t have to make yourself late just because I’m not going to work today,” I said.

“I just wanted to go over some stuff that I got from Fury. Scott Lang hasn’t been much help, which is frustrating and infuriating but there isn’t much we can do. And Fury hasn’t made any decisions about how we could help Wanda, either,” Natasha said. “Basically, we’re sitting around on our ass while nothing happens.”

“I already know this, Nat. I get the emails from Fury just like you and Sam and Clint and the rest of us,” I muttered. I didn’t mean to be sharp with Natasha and I feared that’s how it came across.

“I know,” Natasha said.

“So then why are you here if you have nothing to tell me?” I muttered.

Natasha shrugged her shoulders. “I didn’t want you to be alone today, Steve.” She spoke softly, but there was so much meaning and so much tenderness behind her words. “We’ve been partners for almost five years now. I know about Peggy.”

Hearing Peggy’s name being spoken out loud made everything hurt so much more. “So you know that today is the anniversary of Peggy’s death?” The words stung like a knife to the back but it felt like a weight was lifted off my shoulders. “Five years ago today. And I really miss her, Nat.”

Tears never came to my eyes. I was goddamn tired of being sad.

Natasha sighed. She pressed her fingers gently on top of mine; her fingers were warm to the touch. “I’m so sorry, Steve.”

I met eyes with Natasha. Her eyes were filled with concern and I then realized that the woman who was once guarded and afraid of opening up was gone. I nodded. “The day she died, Peggy was so weak that she couldn’t open her eyes. When the monitor flat-lined, I didn’t believe that she was dead. I refused to leave her side that entire night or the next day or even the next day. I kept telling myself that she wasn’t dead when she was.”

“Steve…” Natasha trailed off. I could tell just by her expression that she was at a loss of words in terms of what she was supposed to say in a situation like this.

“I’ll be okay. Today is just hard,” I muttered. There was a long period of silence until I finally said what had been on my mind for a while now. “Do you ever wonder what our life would be like if we weren’t S.H.I.E.L.D. agents? If, after the war, I stayed a civilian and if Clint never recruited you?”

“Technically Clint was assigned to kill me so I think things ended up pretty good for me,” Natasha said.

I chuckled. “Yeah, I guess that’s true.”

“Where would you want to be?” Natasha asked, bringing the seriousness back into her tone of voice.

I shrugged. “I’m not really sure. Somewhere in New York, of course. That’s my home and I’ve never known anything beyond this place.”

“Kids?” Natasha asked.

“If Peggy – well, it’s something I’m open to,” I said.

“If I hadn’t been recruited to S.H.I.E.L.D and, let’s just assume that Clint wasn’t instructed to kill me, then I’d probably be back with the KGB,” Natasha said. “Being a spy has been my everything, even since I was a child. I don’t know much else.”

“You got time, I guess,” I said. “You can’t expect to be a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent forever, can you?”

“Can you expect that we’re going to outlive being a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent?” Natasha muttered. “How many agents can you name that grow past _this_ to have a happy and normal life, Rogers? You can count them on your fingers.”

I didn’t respond.

“I guess I should get going,” Natasha said. She grabbed her purse resting on the coffee table and slung it around her shoulders. “If you need something, just call me.” She started off toward the door brushing my shoulder with my finger as she did.

I sat there on the couch for a couple more minutes, giving myself the chance to take deep breathes and clear my mind. Being a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent doesn’t giving you the opportunity to de-stress a lot so I tried to make the most of this opportunity. My chest still hurt from the pain of losing Peggy, regardless of how long ago it was, but I understood that I couldn’t let this pain stop me from moving forward.

I rubbed my palms together and went to check my computer that morning for Fury’s update.

_< <Captain Rogers>>_

_< <New lead from Lang thanks to one Arnim Zola. 2940 Dustin Ave. Longwood, Bronx. You and Sam. Surveillance. Tonight at 10:00.>>_

Classic Fury email. Short and absolutely no formalities. On the bright side, this email was delivering some good news for once. We hadn’t had a lead, especially one as solid as this, in a while. I texted Sam to double check that he got the information and he replied with a, ‘ _see you at your place at 9:00. I’ll bring the Chinese food.’_ Smiling, I relayed the information to Natasha, Tony and Clint. Originally, Sam was supposed to be on Wanda-duty. She was hanging out with Michelle tonight to study for a psychology exam tomorrow. It was decided that Clint would have to replace Sam for the night while the two of us were on our stakeout.

I hadn’t been on an old-fashioned stakeout in a while. Normally when it comes to sitting in a car for long periods of time and watching surveillance cameras and listening to audio-recordings all day, Fury would delegate that job to someone with less field experience than me. I had to admit, however, that I was ecstatic to do _anything_ even remotely related to bringing down Hydra. After months of inactivity, I was ready for find something positive about that night. Not to mention it would be nice to catch up with Sam, just like our old army days. Even though I was the one that recommended Sam as a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, we’ve never been given the opportunity to work a case together. It’d be nice to catch up with him.

Natasha beat Wanda home by a few minutes and she immediately starting asking questions about Fury's email. “How do you want to play this out with Wanda?” We were both waiting in the kitchen, a nearly untouched bowl of fruit salad resting on the kitchen table. “Do we tell her?”

“Let’s wait until after we find out how solid this lead is,” I said.

“Are you sure you want to keep her in the dark?”

I nodded. “Wanda’s had enough disappointment. Let’s not make it worse.”

Natasha didn’t say anything in response. When the door opened, Natasha went over to greet Wanda and handed her the bowl of fruit. Wanda took it and went to sit in the living room to do her homework. While I knew that Wanda was very perceptive for someone so young, Natasha and I were even better at putting up a more believable façade; Wanda didn’t know anything about what Fury had told me. She happily got through some of her homework, messed around on her laptop and then left go hang out with Michelle. It was hard to believe just a week ago, she had a full breakdown in the middle of the movie theater. 

Clint and Tony gave Natasha, Sam and me regular updates on Wanda that night but nothing beyond the, ‘this is boring, they’re just studying.’ I was relieved to know that it shouldn’t be an exciting and eventful night for Wanda. It was one less thing that I had to worry about.

“How long do you think this stakeout is supposed to last?” Natasha asked. It was 8:30 and she was helping me gather everything that I needed: a sweatshirt, a few extra packs of ammo, two side arms, and a few other things. S.H.I.E.L.D. was supposed to be sending a Stark-approved car stocked with equally Stark-approved equipment in a little bit.

“Fury never told us how long we supposed to stay out there. Probably will be a late night. Don’t wait for me,” I said.

Natasha laughed and she pressed her arm against my shoulder. “I promise I won’t, _honey_.”

The doorbell rang.

“Must be Sam,” I said and went to get the door.

He was leaning against the doorsill, dressed in a black leather jacket, a baseball cap and was holding a bag of Chinese food. “Got the sustenance.”

“Just like old times,” I said.

We waited for another fifteen minutes until we got a notification from Fury to let us know that there was a car waiting for us outside. It was a small, black car that practically blended in with the dark skies outside. But other than the exterior, this car was far from normal. Tony took the liberty of hooking the car up with J.A.R.V.I.S. so neither Sam nor I had to drive. There were no back seats: just front seats that we could move toward the front and toward the back so that we could have more room. Instead of playing music like normal radios, this system only had two channels: one for direct access to my team’s comms and the other the noise of the building inside. If there was an emergency with Wanda, our comms would override the other line. The mirrors in the visors were practically mini computers: one would be scanning facial recognition and Sam’s mirror was another surveillance camera. Three computers in the back again used as surveillance cameras.

“Pretty sweet get up,” Sam said.

“This is probably nothing to Tony,” I said. “Not like our old days, huh?”

Sam snorted. “Nothing is like the good ol’ days.”

Since there was little traffic (little being a relative term for people from New York), it didn’t take us that long to get to our destination. J.A.R.V.I.S. parked us away from any streetlights and shut off our headlights immediately. Once there, we pushed the seats back, laid the computers out in front us and waited.

The area that we were surveying looked harmless at the surface: office buildings and apartments that looked just the same as where we lived. But being a member of S.H.I.E.L.D., I knew better than that. The graffiti on some of the abandoned buildings clearly indicated gang insignias. The little streetlights and lack of any human life suggested a sense of eeriness and uncertainty. Despite knowing that a mere mugger wasn’t much of any threat to Sam or me, we kept the doors locked and our guns ready for anything that could happen.

“Don’t get too trigger happy,” Sam reminded.

I shrugged. “Haven’t heard you say that in a while.”

“It’s not like we’ve had any action that required the use of gun,” Sam said. “I don’t know which I prefer more: being shot at everyday in the army or doing nothing knowing that I should be doing something.”

“Food’s better here,” I suggested.

“You didn’t enjoy the classic MRE?”

I laughed. “I remember every time I got to go home to see Peggy for a little bit or even Buck’s sister, they would make us homemade food and we would just eat and eat and eat.”

“Riley and I did the same thing,” Sam said.

Riley was Sam’s Bucky. They were both pararescues in the same war in which Bucky and I fought. All four of us crossed paths a couple of times when we both stationed in the same place. Had a few meals together. Made some nice memories but that was about it. Bucky and I were sent on a raid. A raid that went horribly wrong and a raid that Sam’s unit was sent to help out. Bucky died on the same mission that killed Riley. The only thing that Sam and I had in common at the point was the same reeling tragedy of losing our brother. We went to the same group counseling session and, while Sam moved on easier than I did, he was, for some reason, always there for me.

“Do you miss him?” I asked after a long moment.

“Everyday,” Sam said quietly. “But everyday it gets just a little easier to wake up in the morning.”

“You still have his dog tags?”

Sam shook his head. “Riley’s wife, bless her heart, gave it to me as a gift to remember Riley. It took me a little bit of time but I gave it up. It’s on his tombstone now. We check to make sure that it hasn’t blown away and, thankfully, no one’s as much of an asshole to take them.”

“Were you thankful his family gave you his dog tags?” I asked. Neither Bucky’s family nor I got his dog tags. Hard to give them to someone when you can’t even recover the body.

“Yeah, I was. It was like keeping a part of Riley with me. That’s why I realized it wasn’t good for me to keep holding on to it,” Sam said. “But I understand the people that want them. Do you think we’re going to get anything out of this?”

“Hopefully.”

We ate our Chinese food in silence and gave our full attention to the audio and the cameras. The first and second cameras were surveying the two main levels of the building. They were blurry, black and white images of rows of cubicles and very little inhabitants beyond a couple of individuals. The high-tech surveillance system was checking every face of individuals that the camera picked up on, none of whom had to do with Hydra, or so much as even had a traffic incident. The third camera was rotating between some of the separate offices on the top floor and the break room. The last camera was of thermals of the entire building in case there was a hidden room that S.H.I.E.L.D. had yet to discover, but beyond the workers that were still there, there were no other indications of someone hidden. Nothing was suspicious. Nothing read a Hydra base.

The live-stream audio was far from helpful as well. Again, these office people were nothing short of miserably boring. Talks of the stock market and the new copy machine that they were getting was all we heard about – not even the mention of an upcoming sports game that you’d think would be brought up at least once in the city of New York. Hearing about Wanda’s less than eventful night was more exciting than this.

We waited for hours, well past 3:00 in the morning when there were no signs of life anymore. The last office workers disappeared and all that was left were the dim streetlights and the lights in the apartments around us. My eyelids were getting heavy; I knew that Sam was already asleep. And then suddenly –

“Captain Rogers,” came J.A.R.V.I.S.’s calm voice.

I jerked awake and Sam did as well, knocking over his empty carton of Chinese food. “What? What is it?” Sam gasped, reaching for his gun.

“Captain Rogers, Mr. Wilson, it appears that we’ve confirmed a match,” J.A.R.V.I.S. said.

We straightened up and looked at the computer. Waiting impatiently outside the front door of the office building were two men, pacing back and forth. They were dressed in dark clothing and were looking around, eyes bulging. One of the men was unknown but the other was the notorious Green Goblin, a man who always wore a green mask when robbing even the most secure building. He was recruited by a Hydra a while back to help protect their own bank accounts and assets.

“So this has to be it then?!” Sam gasped. “The Hydra base we’ve been looking for!”

The corners of my lips curved upwards into a smile. “I guess so. J.A.R.V.I.S., notify Fury and the rest of the team. We finally have some good news.”

We waited around for a little bit longer that night. The two men that were waiting outside were joined by a third, but this man was wearing a hood and so we never got a clear look at their face. We had the information that we needed, though. Sam and I called it a night when it reached 4:30. We both slept in the car while J.A.R.V.I.S. drove us to our respective homes. Sam and I slept almost the entirety of the next day so we missed Wanda’s and everyone’s reaction to the first good news that we’ve had in a very long time. When I woke up, Natasha was waiting for me with food fresh out of the oven. She had a genuine smile on her face like one that I had never seen before.

“What time is it?” I asked, yawning and leaning up in bed.

“Almost 1:00 in the afternoon. When was the last time you ever got this much sleep?” Natasha asked. She sat on the bed beside me and handed me the tray of food.

“It’s been a while,” I said. “You didn’t need to make me breakfast.”

“We’re supposed to be married,” Natasha said, laughing.

“Thank you. How did Wanda take the news?” I asked.

Natasha smiled. “Wanda was elated. We kept telling her not to get her hopes up since we may get nothing out of this but she’s still happy. Taking down even a little piece of Hydra is at least _something_. Oh, and Fury wants a videoconference with the two of us. Better hurry up and eat that breakfast.”

“I’ll get right on it,” I said.

After I finished eating, I put on a fresh shirt and met Natasha outside. She was sitting at the kitchen table, coffee in hand and was fiddling with the computer. At first the screen was blank but upon sitting in the chair next to her, the screen filled with color. Appearing before our eyes was Director Nick Fury. His square, balding face was marred with scars across his cheeks and forehead; his lips were jagged and one of his eyes was covered with an eye patch. The unconcealed eye was narrowed, taking in my and Natasha’s appearance. His thin lips were curved into a cryptic looking smile that could send a thousand different messages.

“Director Fury,” Natasha said.

“Natasha. Hope you two are doing just fine. Heard you got plenty of sleep, Captain Rogers,” Fury said.

I shrugged. “I was up until 4:30 surveying that place, sir.”

“No need to call me sir. I may be your superior but I’ve never liked that,” he said, dismissively. “Did you tell Ms. Maximoff about our recent luck?”

“I did. She was – happy,” Natasha said, searching for the right word.

Fury shrugged. “Better damn be. We put a lot of work into finding that location. Zola can be a real asshole sometimes. Real pompous that he was able to finally discover a Hydra base.”

“Tell him and Mr. Lang thank you,” I said.

“Will do, Captain, will do,” Fury said.

“Are Steve and I going to be leading a raid anytime soon?” Natasha asked.

Nick Fury nodded. “We’ll have a couple other men keep watch on the area for another few days to make sure that this is a solid lead and not just luck. If things do turn out good, we’ll set you two up with a team.”

“We’re going to keep waiting?” I sighed.

“You two don’t think it’s all suspicious that Hydra happened to fuck up this badly?” Fury said. “We’re going to make sure that we don’t blow your covers with any rash decisions. If things do work out, plan on next week. Friday night.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to let everyone know, I made up the location and address. Longwood is a real neighborhood but everything else, I made up!
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	14. Steve Rogers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve, Natasha, Clint and the Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. raid the Hydra base.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little disclaimer: I've never actually seen the Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. so I honestly just took a stab in the dark about how these characters would behave. Sorry if I misinterpreted these characters at all. I kind of just went off of the Wikipedia summary of the characters.

Chapter Fourteen: Steve Rogers

The following couple of days, Sam, Natasha, Clint and I rotated between surveying the potential Hydra location and Wanda. Fury reassigned Sam to work with Clint during the daytime so whenever Natasha and I finished a late-night shift at the Hydra location, we would lie in bed, eating vegetable trays and drinking green juice with computers open, watching Wanda. I forgot how difficult it was to keep up with the exhausting nights that comes with surveillance. When I was younger (by younger I’m referring to three or four years ago), it was easier on me. Other than the disruption in our circadian rhythm, the continuous surveillance only turned out to be semi-rewarding. Early morning surveillance when Clint and Sam’s shift started was the most fruitful. Several known Hydra agents had been caught wandering into the office building. With the help of Stark’s extensive ability to hack into anything, we were able to discover that there were more than just the two levels of the office building. There was a mysterious room underground. The entrance was in the boss’s office.

“If you guys have everything you need – I mean that sounds like concrete evidence to me – what are you still waiting for?” Wanda asked.

We were explaining everything to her over dinner, which were pizza and a salad. It didn’t fit my regular diet but neither Natasha nor me had the energy to make dinner that night. Wanda was handling the situation much better than I expected. I could tell that she was happier after Natasha and I told her about the information we got from the location. She woke up smiling and she didn’t seem as quiet or sullen anymore. A part of me was relieved to see that Wanda’s mentality was making leaps and bounds compared to when we first brought her to New York. The other part of me was afraid of what would happen to her if we didn’t get anything out of this raid.

“Fury is assembling a team for us,” I explained.

“You can’t just use Sam and Clint?” Wanda said.

I shook my head. “Someone needs to be here to protect you, and we can’t risk exposing your identity to other people. From what I understand, Clint will be coming with Natasha and I. We’ll be leaving late Friday night. Sam and Tony are going to be staying with you that night. We should hopefully be back by Saturday night or Sunday morning. It’ll take a little bit of time to get all the information processed from the raid.”

“Just pretend we’re out of town for the weekend. You can have a friend over if you want. Do something to take your mind off of what’s happening,” Natasha said.

Wanda nodded. “Okay. Can I have Peter over?”

I laughed. “Sure. Just no boys in your bedroom.”

Wanda shook her head, smiling just as broadly as I was. “Of course not.”

For the next few days, Fury gave Natasha, Clint and I the day off so that we could be well rested for the raid. Since Natasha and I both had day jobs for our cover, we never really got the chance to stay in bed and relax all that much but from what Tony told me, Clint had disappeared for a few days for a little vacation. He went completely dark the day before the raid, and Natasha and I never pushed for him to answer or stay vocal for us. We both understand that, whatever he was doing, was essential for him to do before our next mission. All that I needed from Clint was his reassurance that he would be home Friday night before the new team Fury assembled for us would arrive at our apartment.

I had arranged with Tony for Wanda to stay at his place for the night, something for which I was surprised to see that Wanda was very excited. Thursday night, Natasha helped Wanda pack some of her essentials. They packed light and both insisted on Wanda using an unnecessarily large bag. Apparently, Tony’s partner, Pepper Potts, was going to be at Tony’s for the weekend and she wanted to treat Wanda to a long night of shopping. Whatever they were doing didn’t matter as long as Wanda was out of the house so that the new S.H.I.E.L.D. members wouldn’t know her identity. That Friday morning, Natasha and I let Wanda skip first period so that we could have a family breakfast consisting of grilled bread with an avocado spread and goat cheese melted on top and lots of fresh fruit. Despite how animated and excited Wanda was to spend the night with Tony and Pepper, there was an unsettling silence amongst us.

“Will you guys be able to contact me after the raid so that I know you’re okay?” Wanda asked.

“Fury won’t want us contacting you until we come back home,” Natasha said. “He doesn’t want the threat of any part of you, even your voice over private comms, to be heard by the other S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. We’ll be keeping limited contact with Stark if that means anything.”

Wanda nodded. “Is Sam picking me up for school today?”

“He’ll be here soon,” I said quietly.

There was silence again. It was easier this way to pretend that nothing was going on. Wanda hugged the two of us goodbye, something that she rarely does before she goes to school, and she clung onto Natasha and me longer than I expected. I felt my stomach twist at the thought that this could be the last time that we ever see other. The thought lingered on my mind the entire time that I watched Wanda gather her school supplies and greet Sam, who was waiting outside. Natasha closed the door behind Wanda. She was quiet and there was an uncharacteristic expression of anxiety and nervousness contorted on her face. That, coupled with the looming uncertainty of tonight’s success, was enough to make my heart start beating a little bit faster. I pushed that feeling aside.

Before Fury’s men come to our apartment, there were a number of chores that Natasha and I needed to accomplish. We started with sorting through our weapons and lying out of our uniforms. I rolled my eyes in frustration when I saw Natasha lay out that ridiculous leather uniform that Stark made for her. Nothing screams impracticality than what Natasha chose to wear on missions. Deciding that this wasn’t the right time to argue with Natasha on her choice of clothing, I focused on preparing my own weapons of choice. I cleaned the barrels, laid out my own entourage of ammunition and then packed that ammo. I helped Natasha do the same thing while she fussed with her Widow’s Bites around the cuffs of her suit. Once packed, we shut the blinds, put on some relaxing music and took a long nap so that we would be rested. All the years in the army and all the years at S.H.I.E.L.D. meant that my body was especially good at falling asleep on command so I had no problem getting to bed.

The sound of an alarm woke me up, indicating that it was 7:30. Natasha and I rolled out of bed, ate a small dinner and then finished our last job. Natasha and I had to clear out anything that gave away Wanda’s identity. This included all of her pictures that Natasha hung out, the scrapbooks and anything that even indicated Wanda was in high school. We kept these items locked away in Wanda’s bedroom, which J.A.R.V.I.S took extra care to make sure that it was securely locked and fastened. By the time that we finished, there was no indication that a teenager lived here at all. When we finished, I settled onto the couch, reloading and unloading my weapon out of a nervous habit and Natasha was pacing back and forth in front. The door swung open and Clint walked inside, a quiver strapped around his bulletproof-shielded shoulders.

Natasha rounded on Clint. “Thanks for helping us de-Wanda the place. What’s with that funny eye-patch around your neck?” I looked at Natasha was talking about. Slung around Clint’s neck was what looked like water goggles but there was only goggle for a single eye, making it also resemble an eye patch.

“Stark built it for me,” Clint said. He put it on. “It helps me for me to see things that are far away. No scope on a bow and arrow. And you should have told me to come over earlier if you wanted help.”

“We did,” Natasha muttered rather curtly.

The sound of ringing coming from our open computer interrupted Clint from snapping back at Natasha. It was Nick Fury video-chatting us. He had a serious look on his face. “Captain Rogers, Agents Romanoff and Barton, I hope that you are all ready to meet your team,” he said, and a sly grin appeared on his face.

Just as he said that, the door swung open and in filed ten men and women. “These are the agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.,” Fury said. His tone reminded me of a child in elementary school during show-and-tell, a mixture of pride and self-satisfaction.

One woman walked forward, dressed in black, skin-fitting pants with guns inside her low-hanging holster. She wore a black jacket underneath a leather vest. On the sleeve of her black jacket was the S.H.I.E.L.D. insignia. Though I didn’t see a bulletproof vest, I could assume that she was wearing one under her clothes. She had very pale and very clear skin and almond-shaped brown eyes that were curved into a curious expression. The woman looked Natasha and me up and down before glancing at Nick Fury on the computer screen. She nodded abruptly, an expression that indicating nothing but the utmost respect to her superior. “Meet Melinda May. She’s one of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s best pilots and weapons expert.”

“Nice to meet you,” I said, shaking her hand. Natasha and Clint greeted her the same way.

“Director Fury has talked a lot about the three of you. I don’t know anything about the asset that you’re protecting but I’m impressed that you’ve managed to keep him or her alive for that long,” Melinda complimented.

Another female came up to introduce herself. She was wearing a painfully similar outfit to Natasha’s – I wasn’t sure what made this outfit so appealing. Her hair was cropped short and was just resting on her shoulder; at least Natasha pulled her hair back. She faced the three of us head on, boring her eyes into our eye for a very long second, as if she was testing who would blink first. “This is Daisy Johnson. She might as good at hacking as Stark, but she’s also damn fine with a gun.”

“Call me Skye,” the woman said, shaking our hands.

The third agent, a man, who approached us was on the older side: he had a rectangular shaped face with salt and pepper hair, beard and mustache. He didn’t wait for Fury to introduce him. “Name’s Lance Hunter.”

“I’ve heard about you,” Clint said. “Mercenary turned S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, right? Heard you did some real fucking damage before Fury recruited you.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Lance Hunter said, shaking Clint’s hand.

Fury introduced us one by the one to the rest of his men, all of whom looked very serious and bore scowls on their faces. They looked younger than Natasha and me, but there was something dark about their expression that suggested they had seen more nightmares than even me. There was a moment of silence amongst us. We took in the appearances of the individuals that we didn’t know, coming to a sudden understanding that our lives rested on strangers. This understanding followed us to the cars parked out back. As Clint and I held the door open, I could see in the way that some of the agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. looked at the two of us or pressed his or her hands on my back and shoulders that we were all appreciative of one another.

Fury had gotten two black SUVs for us. Natasha, Clint and I were in one car with three other agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. and Melinda May, Lane Hunter and Skye Johnson were in the other car. We sat in dead silence for an extended period of time: no string of words could be a sufficient source of comfort. It was 10:30 at night so traffic on a Friday night was pretty light. But even with the limited amount of cars on the road, every honk and every jerk of the car made us all tense up. I kept one hand on my weapon at all times.

“How much longer?” Clint asked after twenty minutes of driving.

“Getting carsick, old man?” Natasha said.

This banter went on for another minute.

“Eyes on target, folks,” I interrupted. I checked my watch. “And Barton, ETA twenty minutes.” As soon as I announced that, there was a sinking feeling of fear settling in the pit of my stomach. I always felt this way before a raid. Even though we had the element of surprise on our side and a team of lethal agents, something could always go wrong. Being lead on this raid meant that these agents, regardless of their years of experience or whatever status Fury gave them, were my responsibility. What happens to me was irrelevant. What happened to my team meant everything.

“Ten minutes, Steve,” Tony said. His voice was shaky. “You doing alright?” Tony agreed to be an extra set of eyes and ears for us.

“Yeah,” I muttered. “Take care of our asset.”

“With my life,” Tony whispered. “Our asset is doing alright if you’re curious.” I never felt more grateful for Tony. He told me on Thursday that beside a long night of shopping, he had planned out a number of events to keep Wanda distracted. Movies, games, bowling.

“Alright,” I said, turning off my and Tony’s private lines and activating the team’s comms so that everyone could hear me, “Barton, I want you on the roof of the office building and watching the back entrance. Lance, you’re on the building across the street watching the front. No one gets in or out of that building without one of us with them. Skye, stay in the car and work on hacking into the building’s mainframe. Get their security systems down so that Nat and Melinda can start downloading files. If you see Batroc, _do not_ engage. Radio me and I’ll pursue. The rest of you sweep the rooms and clear out Hydra agents with Romanoff and May. Remember, the more hydra agents we have, the more information we can get. They have a cyanide tooth and they _will_ use it if necessary. Stay on high alert, agents. These people won’t hesitate to kill,” I warned.

Clint snorted after a long period of silence. “Nice pep talk, cap.”

I suppressed a smile as the car came to a halt. I looked over at Natasha. She was adjusting her comms and messing with her cuffs. Looking at her face, the way there was no tension in her expression, put me at ease. Knowing that she was by my side was comforting and I pulled the car door open. Bitter cold pressed against our faces and the napes of our neck. But other than the sound of whistling wind, it was completely silent; there wasn’t a soul walking around. We crept out of the cars and approached the front entrance, not even our breath loud enough for an owl to hear. Clint and Lance left to go to their respective places while the rest of us went to stand closest to the door.

“Stark, cut the power,” I muttered.

“Power’s off. One minute til the backup generator kicks in,” Tony said.

“Thermal optics on,” I said and pushed the goggles around my eyes.

Once secure, I nodded toward Natasha. She needed no further instructions. She rounded on the door and kicked it in. One of the instable hinges cracked and the door splintered apart. What was once an atmosphere of silent intensity quickly escalated to a state of hysteria as we realized that the building was far from empty. Because we were wearing thermal optics, I could see distorted shapes of desks and the terrified office workers scrambling to figure out what was going on and to find flashlights. Some of the other S.H.I.E.L.D. agents began shouting orders for the civilians to stay on the ground so that they could check them out. I ignored the other civilians – they looked like they were well under control – and I went to the boss’s office. Natasha and I pushed the desk aside and ripped the carpet from the ground. Just like we saw when we were on surveillance, there was a hidden ladder descending into darkness.

“How many are down there?” I asked.

“Ten plus heat signatures,” Tony said. “The lights down there are back on and I can’t get them off.”

“On me!” I shouted to the others. The S.H.I.E.L.D. agents came rushing to my side, following Melinda. “Optics off once we get downstairs.”

I unlatched a flash bang from the side of my pocket, unhooked the pin and dropped it down into the arkness. A loud bang filled our ears as the flash bang went off. Hearing the sounds of groans, Natasha and I launched ourselves down the flight of the stairs first. I was blinded for a moment and I ripped my optic thermals off. I winced at the swinging overhead lights that casted a very unflattering reddish tinge. We were in what looked like an underground casino with a well-stocked bars, rows of poker tables and cherry wood, high-standing tables. The place reeked of different types of alcohol and the smell of cigars. Natasha gestured toward a hallway passing right by the bar; out of the corner of my eye, I could see closed doors. More agents dropped down behind us, brandishing their guns defensively.

In front of us were large men in varying shapes, sizes and appearances, wearing dress shirts, slacks and ties. They were crumpled on the ground, rubbing their eyes and clutching their ears in pain. S.H.I.E.L.D. agents behind Natasha and I rushed forward, shouting commands and pushing the incapacitated men to the ground. I gestured for Natasha to follow me but before we could take the first step, I heard the faintest sound of shuffling from behind us. I grabbed a hold of Natasha and threw us toward a pool table. We knocked it over just as the sound of gunfire went off.

“How many are there?!” I shouted.

“Six men in front, four more are coming from around the hallway behind you!” Stark gasped.

I peered around the side of the table, assessing the situation. Hostiles were flanking our sides, semiautomatic drawn. One S.H.I.E.L.D. agent lay dead on the ground, one was badly injured and the rest were, thankfully, unharmed. I turned to Natasha, who was already pointing her gun at some of the men and firing. I pressed my comms and muttered, “Cover us while Natasha and I clear the other rooms! Melinda, once this place is clear, sweep through the other side!”

There were a few grunts of acceptance from the agents and a curt nod from Natasha. I nodded a countdown and the moment I hit three, Natasha and I burst forward. Melissa and two other S.H.I.E.L.D. agents were up at the same moment, blindly firing their weapons. The Hydra agents dispersed to find cover. They kept their heads down, and it gave Natasha and me enough time to get to the first doorway. She kicked the door down. A Hydra agent stumbled out. Natasha pressed her cuff against the agent’s neck and she electrocuted him. The man convulsed and she threw him to the ground. Meanwhile, I peered my head through the doorway to see another man reaching toward his gun. I took care of him.

“Room clear! Get these files downloaded–,” I started.

Then my shoulder erupted in agonizing pain. I crumpled onto the ground, my eyes watering. I looked around to see Batroc, in his full-height and terror, staring down at me. He had a gun directed to me. Natasha was faster than Batroc, though. She shot a stinger at him. She clipped his shoulder and Batroc cried out. He retrreated a moment later.

“Steve!” Natasha shouted. She reached my side.

I examined my shoulder. “It’s nothing. It got my vest!” I got to my feet. “Nat, sweep the rooms. I’m gonna get Batroc!” I shouted. Batroc disappeared in the emergency staircase that led toward the roof. “Clint, Batroc’s coming to your–!”

Something collided against me and I crashed into a wall. I spun around as another Hydra agent, this one much larger than even myself, rounded on me.

“What was that, Cap?” Clint said.

“BATROC’S ON HIS WAY TO YOU!” I yelled as I side-stepped a punch. I twisted the man’s arm, completely immobilizing him. I kneed him the face, elbowed him in the back and pushed him toward the ground. “Clint, _do not_ let Batroc off that roof! I’m coming up now!” I tossed the Hydra agent aside and raced toward the emergency staircase. I took nearly three stairs at a time, my legs burning as I sprinted up the staircase. My heart was racing, but I was almost there. I could see the top of the building and I could see the doorway. I made it to the final level when –

“Steve!” Stark said frantically. I couldn’t describe the tone of voice that Stark had: it was more than just panic; it was complete and utter fear. “Steve! Clint’s hit! Batroc is getting away!”

For what felt like a long minute, I froze where I stood, until I very quickly launched myself forward, as though I was flying up the remaining stairs and not just running up them. I could tell by the high-pitched voice screaming in my ear that Natasha was more than just terrified but it was as though my brain simply couldn’t register what she was saying. Distinguishing what Natasha was trying to say didn’t seem important to my brain at the moment; my brain didn’t seem to be in control of my body anymore. I was running, I was tearing through the doorway purely on instincts now – and when I made my way onto the rooftop, it was like I was being hit with more emotions that I could handle. Fear. Panic. Anger. Anguish. It all came at once when I saw Clint Barton lying on the ground. He was crumpled up, almost in fetal position.

I looked around first to assess the situation: I could see Batroc – he was running toward the edge of the rooftop; something – or _someone_ – must be waiting for him on the ground level. I reached for my sidearm.

“Cap, we’ve got the place surrounded,” Tony said. “Batroc can’t get away.”

I knew that Stark wasn’t right. I could’ve shot Batroc but I couldn’t risk him losing his balance and falling off the side of the building. If I didn’t do anything to Batroc, there was always the cyanide tooth that could end any Hydra life in a moment’s notice. I knew that if I ran as fast as I could, I would be able to reach Batroc and get him. But a part of me also knew that Clint needed _immediate_ medical care. In a fraction of a second, I had completely forgotten my position as a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. I knew that getting Batroc, no matter how vital it was to the mission, wasn’t as important as getting to Clint.

As I rushed to Clint’s side, I could see Batroc’s eyes roll backwards, his mouth foaming and his body collapsing to the ground.

“CLINT!” I yelled as I dropped down beside him. Slowly, Clint unfurled himself and rolled over to face me. All the color was drained from his face, and he was clutching the side of his stomach. Quickly, I tore off some of the extra fabric from my shirt and helped to apply pressure on his wound. “Clint, we’re going to get you out of this. It’s just a scratch. I’ve seen worse in my army days!”

Clint, who, for all I knew, was on his deathbed, couldn’t help but crack a smile. “I would’ve have liked to see those wounds – because this isn’t just a scratch,” he muttered through clenched teeth. I could tell that it was taking all of his energy to keep his eyes open.

I knew Clint was right.

“You stay with me!” I shouted. “That’s an order!” My mind was racing. I knew that stopping the bleeding was important but I was no doctor. I had no idea how to treat a wound of this magnitude.

Clint almost laughed. “Yes, Captain.”

I pressed down on Clint’s wound. “Someone, anyone, please tell me we’re getting evac right now!”

“Helicopter is thirty seconds away. The closest hospital is three minutes away – they’ve already been notified of a gunshot wound victim coming their way,” Tony exclaimed.

The door to the roof burst open. I reached for my gun and brandished it toward the approaching figure. It was just Natasha. Her bottom lip was badly bleeding and her forehead looked badly bruised but other than that, she seemed to be unharmed. Natasha dropped down beside Clint, her hands shaking. When she turned to look back at me, I saw something that I never thought I would see in Natasha’s eye while on mission: I saw fear. “Check on Batroc. I’ll stay with Clint!”

I nodded, but judging by the look in Natasha’s face, both of us knew very well that Batroc wasn’t much of use to us. When I kneeled beside his body and checked for a pulse, that very thought was confirmed. “Batroc’s dead.”

Saying the words out loud made the situation all the more grave. I swallowed that thought and went to Natasha’s side. She was applying pressure to Clint’s wound and holding his hand with her other. I sat down beside her. Not even the violent wooshing from the helicopter and the whirring of the blades made Natasha look up from Clint’s eyes. Men dropped beside Natasha, Clint and I. Several went towards the doorway and back into the Hydra lair, and few others dropped down beside Clint with a stretcher. I practically had to pry Natasha away from Clint so that some of the S.H.I.E.L.D. men could pull him onto the stretcher. The minute we inside, Natasha took the seat closest to Clint and immediately resumed grasping onto her dearest friend. An emergency medic began to bandage Clint’s wound and attach wires and IVs to him.

The flight to the hospital seemed endless. Every movement that medic made to try to stabilize Clint’s condition and every _millisecond_ of inactivity from Clint made me feel worse. And the more I looked at Clint’s face, the more his eyes that continued to grow more and more distant, all I could see were the men that I had lost. The men of the Howling Commandos, the joke of a name that my unit and I gave ourselves while in Afghanistan. I saw Juniper’s face. And Dum-Dum’s. And Bucky’s. I didn’t want Clint to be another one of men that I let down.

The moment that we landed on the roof of the hospital, there were already several emergency room doctors waiting with a stretcher for us. I helped to carry Clint, who was still limp and who’s uniform was soaked through with blood, onto the stretcher. The minute his body hit the stretcher, the doctors began racing forward. Natasha and I jogged to keep up with the doctors. Beyond the blinding lights of the hospital, everything around me became black. The only part of the hospital that I could possibly notice at the present time was the rush to start Clint’s emergency operation. When we reached the ER, one of the medics turned to look at Natasha and me.

“I’m sorry,” the doctor said, “you have to wait out here!”

“But–,” Natasha started.

I grabbed onto Natasha’s arms. “Nat, it’s okay. We’ll wait out here.”

The doctor gave me a grateful look in her eyes and she turned to follow the medics bringing Clint to the ER. Natasha turned to look at me with a look of hate before collapsing into one of the maroon-colored plush seats right by the door of the ER. She buried her head into her eyes and began to sob. Her shoulders were heaving up and down and she was violently shaking. I had never seen Natasha cry before, not even when she was dealing with a gunshot to her abdomen or shoulder. Not when she had gone on two hours of sleep in three days. Not when every part of her body was aching with pain as we had to fight our way to survival. Not ever. And now, watching her crumbling before my eyes, I didn’t know what to do.

“Nat…” I started. “It’s–…”

What was I supposed to say to her? I wanted to say _anything_ that would make her feel better but I also knew that I didn’t want to lie to her. I couldn’t say that everything was going to be okay. Natasha had been there for me when I was dealing with Peggy’s death and now I had to do the same for her, no matter how terrible I felt. So I didn’t say anything to her. I took her in my arms and I held her. I held her as she cried in fear of losing her best friend. And I continued to hold her until her sobs eased and all that was left were uneven hiccups into my chest. When I felt comfortable enough with pulling away to see if she was alright, I realized that Natasha had cried herself to sleep. The only sound coming from Natasha was sharp breaths as if they were gasps. I was still wide awake, my mind blank by choice. After hours of just sitting there, I heard the sounds of gentle footsteps approaching Natasha and me. I leaned up from the hospital chair as the door from the emergency room swung open and an ER came into view. Natasha was leaning her head against my arm and my abrupt movement woke her. She turned to me and then to the doctor. My heart began racing as I took in the ER’s appearance. Weary eyes with bags and wrinkles from the stress no doubt of his job, I needed no words from the doctor to know what was going to come from his mouth.

“I'm so sorry,” the doctor began.

The violent sound of ringing filled my ears. The doctor kept talking. He pulled out a file that he had tucked in his arms and was reading to Natasha and me. What the doctor was saying didn’t matter. All I knew was that Clint Barton, my fellow agent and my _friend_ was dead. No explanation and no ‘we tried everything we could’ would possibly make me feel better. I slumped against the chair, forgetting to listen to the rest of the doctor's explanation and stared at the wall. Absolute nothingness.  Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Natasha’s chest heaving and her face twisted with pain.

The doctor brought two cups of tea in Styrofoam cups and told us that we could stay there for as long as necessary. Natasha didn’t so much as blink in the doctor’s direction to recognize that he was talking to us. I grabbed a hold of the tea and thanked him. When I offered the cup to Natasha, she pulled away from me and rushed down the hallway.

“Nat,” I said, standing up. I went to the follow her but when I rounded the hallway Natasha was no longer in front of me. Nick Fury was towering before me, eye patch and mysteriousness and all. “Fury?”

“Captain Rogers,” he said. The normal twisted tone of voice that he always had was gone and was replaced with _disappointment_.

“Did you see where Natasha went?” I asked.

“She’s collecting herself. And she’s not your concern right now,” Fury said.

“She’s my partner and she’s in pain. Of course she’s my concern,” I snapped back.

“Agent Romanoff is much stronger than you’re giving her credit for. I don’t think she needs your babying at the moment,” Fury said.

I scoffed. “Babying? Her most trusted and oldest friend was just _killed_. What are you doing here, anyway?”

“I need to talk to you about the outcome of this raid,” Fury said. “I thought I made it very clear that our priority of this raid was to get Batroc. You failed that – and I saw the damn security tapes on the roof. I _know_ that you could have gotten Batroc before he ate the cyanide tooth and you didn’t!”

“Clint was going to die. I tried to save him.”

“Agent Barton died anyway. If you had gotten Batroc, at least he wouldn’t have died in vain,” Fury said, coldly. “The Captain Rogers that I know would have done anything to preserve the mission!”

Those words cut deep and I finally understood how Wanda felt. “I guess you don’t know the real Captain Rogers that well.”

Fury scoffed. “I guess not. You best damn hope that we get something off of these Hydra files otherwise you can tell our asset why she’ll have to continue to live in hiding. After we take care of Hydra, if we _ever_ take care of Hydra, you will receive an unpaid suspension for two months. Do you understand, agent?”

“It’s _captain_ ,” I muttered.

“You will get Romanoff and you will report to your underground base. Get Stark there. A car is waiting for you outside,” Fury said.

“Yes sir,” I muttered. I burst past Fury, my muscles rigid and the blood all the way from the top of my head to the tips of my toes. How dare he ever try to belittle the life of one of my teammates, especially one that sacrificed everything to S.H.I.E.L.D.?

When I found Natasha, she was staring at one of the vending machines, her eyes blank of emotion. “Why do you look so angry?” she asked.

“Doesn’t matter,” I said, truthfully. “He wants us to get to the underground base tonight. Tony?” I said over comms. “Tony? J.A.R.V.I.S. can you–…”

“I’m here, Rogers,” Tony said. “How’s – how’s Barton?”

Natasha let out a deep sigh. “He’s gone,” she whispered.

“Shit…” Tony said.

“Fury wants you at the underground base. We’ll meet you there. Tell Sam to meet you at your place to take over. Don’t leave until he shows up, and don’t wake up Wanda. I know she has a special date planned for tomorrow and I don’t want this ruin it for her. Let’s give her a little bit of happiness before…” Natasha stopped. “I just know how close she and Clint were.”

“Okay,” Tony said. “I’ll make sure Wanda has a great day tomorrow. I’ll meet you soon.”

The line went dead. Natasha pulled her hair out of her ponytail and she raced toward the door. I scrambled to keep up with her. The entire ride to the secret base, Natasha never shed a tear. She sat rigid and was looking directly in front of her. She was projecting a false sense of strength but I could tell that Natasha was hurting more than anyone else. She was reeling with pain.

“Natasha,” I started, reaching toward her.

“Don’t,” Natasha said. “Please.”

That was the only thing that we said until we reached the underground base. Tony was already waiting there. For once, he wasn’t wearing his suits and vests. He was dressed in a long-sleeve shirt and slacks. His eyes were full of pain, tears were brimming the corner of his eyes. He stood up. There was a sense of agony in his footsteps as he went to greet Natasha and me. He patted my shoulder. There was a sense of relief that emanating from Tony and I returned the gesture. When Tony turned to Natasha, there was a moment were they were just staring at each other until Tony slowly pulled Natasha into a hug. What felt like a morbid yet calming situation quickly turned into a feeling of despair and painful reality as Fury walked inside. We rounded on Fury.

“Thank you for coming on such short notice, Mr. Stark,” Fury said. “Johnson already scanned the faces of the men that were there. Most of them were just hired guns. Natasha when you’re ready, why don’t you take a crack at them to see what we can get?”

She nodded.

“Or we could give her a chance to mourn,” Tony said.

“There will be time for that,” Fury said, a sudden softness in his voice. “I doubt these men will know anything anyway. The only target we wanted is dead. We have their encrypted files as well.”

“I’ll get J.A.R.V.I.S. working on it,” Tony whispered.

“We’ll also need to find a replacement,” Fury finally said. “We need at least four agents on active field duty. I know someone that would be a good fit.”

Silence followed. The three of us looked at each other and, for a moment, there was nothing short of bitterness in the atmosphere. I turned to look at the clock to see that it was 6:35 in the morning. When I got a clear look of the time, it hit me then how utterly exhausted I was. My eyelids quickly became very heavy and my muscles began to feel more and more like they were made of lead as the adrenaline that was keeping me going started to dissipate.

Knowing that all three of us were exhausted, Fury gave us the rest of the morning off. We waited to leave the underground safe house until J.A.R.V.I.S. informed Stark that Pepper and Wanda had left to go out to breakfast. Once his home was vacated, Tony offered his guest room for the two of us, which we were very grateful for. Helen Cho was already waiting for Natasha and me when we arrived. We changed out of our uniforms, she examined any possible wounds and then we put on the clothes that Pepper and Tony leant to us. Tony showed us to the guest bedroom that was themed around Paris, which was as lavish as the rest of his house: a skylight, a flat screen and a massage chair in the corner. I went to get Natasha and me some breakfast in the kitchen where I saw that Tony was leaning against the kitchen counter looking down at the sink.

“You alright?” I asked.

Tony shrugged. “I should be asking you that, shouldn’t I? You just fought your way through a gun show. Not mention you got shot.”

“It hit the vest. Helen Cho already said that I’m fine,” I shrugged. I leaned against the kitchen counter. “I think all I need is a month full of sleep.”

“I think we all could use that,” Tony muttered. He paused and then said, “I can’t believe Clint’s gone.”

My heart sunk. “Neither can I.”

Tony rubbed his forehead. “Hell, I was talking to him this morning. He was a little withdrawn but he was happy. He was _excited_ to finally get to use his bow and arrow,” Tony sighed. “How’s Natasha?”

“She’s hiding her pain, as expected,” I said.

The oven went off. Tony put on a glove and pulled out a skillet with a steaming frittata inside. He poured two glasses of water. “I hope you two are hungry. I thought you could use some home cooked food.” He put the skillet, two small plates, forks and knives and the water on a tray.

“Thank you, Tony,” I said.

Tony smiled, “If you need anything, I’ll be down the hall.”

I gave Tony a half-hearted smile; anything beyond that required too much energy. I rounded the hall to the guest bedroom and gently knocked on the door. I peaked inside and my heart dropped. Natasha was staring out the window. Her hands were balled together and tears were streaming down her dirt-streaked, bruised face. When I walked inside, Natasha flinched and looked away. I set the tray onto the coffee table in front of the bed and went toward Natasha. I pressed my hand on her shoulder. She cringed for a moment and then turned to look at me. It was like looking into the eyes of a much younger, much more innocent Natasha. “Nat…” I whispered. She let out a painful sob and the next thing I knew, she was crumbling onto the ground. I caught her and held her close to me.

We stayed there together for a while until Natasha’s sobs eased. When she finally calmed down, I helped her back on the bed. I went into the guest bathroom, which was decorated with flowers and vintage-esque paintings of the Eiffel Tower. I turned the shower and the steam on for Natasha. While she took a warm shower there, J.A.R.V.I.S. directed me to a second guest bedroom where I took a shower. I hurried so that I could get out before Natasha and I heated the food that had gotten cold. When I got back to the first guest bedroom, Natasha was already out of the shower, dressed back into her clothes and her hair wrapped in a towel. She was sitting on the bed, her expression blank. I gave her some ibuprofen and we ate the frittata in silence.

“What are we going to tell Wanda?” she whispered.

“We’ll figure that out later,” I whispered.

We finished eating and I set the tray aside. I rubbed lotion on her sore legs and shoulders, I held ice to her bruises and finally I made her a strong cup of chamomile tea. When her shaking eased, I wrapped us up tightly in the covers and we went to bed. I wrapped my arms around – she was so small she fit easily in my arms. I pressed a kiss on her cheek. We stayed that way the entire time we slept, through Natasha’s nightmares, through her crying. I never let her go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really struggled with writing this chapter simply on the grounds that I had no idea how to approach the death of a character. I'm sorry if you are upset that Clint died but I've always pictured Clint being the one Avenger to die.
> 
> I hope you've enjoyed the story so far. If there is any way that I can improve this story or any ideas that you may have, let me know!
> 
> Thanks for reading :)


	15. Wanda Maximoff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wanda Maximoff learns about Clint Barton's death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! This is a pretty long chapter but there was a lot of stuff I needed to include so I hope you enjoy it!

Chapter Fifteen: Wanda Maximoff

– Saturday Morning –

I woke up after a long night of peaceful sleep. Perhaps it was how many activities Pepper and Tony forced me to participate in last night from the shopping to the foosball to the racing around New York in Tony’s expensive convertibles that made me sleep like a baby that night. It may have also just been the fact that I was sleeping in the world’s softest and world’s coziest bed, not to mention that this guest bedroom was probably nicer than some of the most expensive hotel rooms. Cashmere sheets. Tempur-pedic mattresses and pillows. An electric blanket that kept warm, despite how air conditioned Tony's home was. A bedroom with a balcony that overlooked the busy Manhattan streets. J.A.R.V.I.S. playing soft music in the background to help put me to sleep. I should make an effort to sleep at Tony's more often.

I yawned and rolled over to check the time. It was 8:00 in the morning. I got out of bed, dressed in an expensive purple pajama set that Tony and Pepper bought for me last night, and slipped on white fuzzy slippers, another gift. I went down a flight of stairs to find Pepper lounging lazily on a couch in the living room. She was flipping through a thick packet of paper, wearing glasses and holding a pen in her right hand. When I came downstairs, she looked up, a smile on her face. Pepper Potts was beautiful with her freckled-face and reddish sleek hair.

She set her paper down on the glass table. “Good morning.”

“Morning,” I said. “Where’s Tony?”

She smiled. “He got called into the office doing _lord_ knows what. Do you want to go out to breakfast? I really don’t feel like making anything.”

“Sure. It can be S.H.I.E.L.D’s treat," I offered. 

Pepper laughed. “Don’t worry about it. Tony would be upset if I didn’t treat you to a nice breakfast. Why don’t you get dressed and we can leave right afterwards. Tony even said that we could take one of his nice cars, as long as J.A.R.V.I.S. is the one parking." 

I smiled. “I’ll be right back. Are you gonna drop me off at the apartment afterwards?”

“If you don’t mind. I have a meeting that I need to get to. Being one of the CEO’s of Stark Industries is a really demanding job,” Pepper said. “I know you were planning a nice date night for you and Peter, I believe. Do you need to go shopping? I don't mind we go to the grocery store first.”

“That'd be great. There's just a couple of ingredients that I need,” I told Pepper. Peter was supposed to come to my house for the night. While we were planning on going to Central Park for a picnic that evening, it was forecasted to rain so we settled on having a picnic in my living room with a fire and candles and I was going to make my favorite dish: Paprikash. My mother used to make it all the time when I was younger. I would need a little refresher, but I could practically make the entire dish without a recipe and all by myself. I haven't the chance to make paprikash in years and I was beyond excited to finally get to. 

I went to get dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt and excitedly followed Pepper downstairs to the garage. We went to an adorable little breakfast place just a block away from Tony’s house. After being seated, I immediately recognized Sam sitting in the corner sipping a cup of coffee by himself. It felt weird to see Sam. Normally Clint was the one tailing me.

I hadn’t even thought about Clint, Natasha and Steve until then. I only sort of understood why Fury didn’t want them contacting me, but I was on absolute edge. I was completely in dark about how the raid went down. I felt confident that the three of them would be okay, though. It was practically second nature for Steve to defend himself in a fight what with all that army training. Natasha’s self-preservation was bound to keep her alive. And Clint would do anything to stay alive. He has a family to get back to and I knew that he thought it would be a betrayal to leave his family. They were all coming back. I don’t know how good of condition they would be in, but I wasn’t too worried about them. In terms of how fruitful this raid would be, that was up for debate. While I highly doubted that this would be the key to bringing down all of Hydra, I truly hoped that there would be _something_ vital.

“Wanda,” Pepper said. “Don’t think about it. You’ll go crazy.”

I nodded. I knew that she was right. I tried very hard not to think about Steve, Natasha and Clint for the rest of the breakfast. It was an awfully expensive restaurant for a place that served just omelettes and hash but Pepper reassured me that it was okay to order anything off the menu. I suppose it’s nice to have so much money that eating out all the time wasn’t any issue. When we were finished, Pepper left a sizable tip and we were off to the grocery store. Other than the chicken and Anaheim pepper, I was all set with ingredients for the main course. I bought a sparkling cider, lettuce and toppings for a salad, a plethora of strawberries and chocolate for dessert, a red-and-white checkered picnic blanket and lots of roses. Sure it was unnecessary and maybe even clichéd, but hey, this could be this last date I ever go on. Might as well make it everything I dreamed of.

Pepper dropped me off at the apartment. She didn’t need to offer to help carry in the groceries since Sam beat her to it. We walked upstairs to the apartment. Natasha and Steve never had the chance to put all the pictures and scrapbooks of me back on display since the other S.H.I.E.L.D. agents have been there. With Sam’s help, I was able to put everything back into it's respective place. Since there wasn’t a lot to do other than cooking, I spent a considerably long time cleaning up the living room and kitchen. Given that Natasha was a neat-freak, the living room didn’t require too much attention other than dusting some of the cabinets and vacuuming. Sam helped with the dishes and the apartment looked dazzling in the following few hours.

“Now, do I need to give this boy a talk before your date tonight?” Sam asked, seriously.

I rolled my eyes. “Okay, _dad_.”

Sam laughed. “I’m messing with you. But seriously, if this guy tries anything funny just remember I’ll be watching in surveillance cameras.”

“That's hilarious,” I said. 

"Are you at least excited?" Sam said.

I smiled. "Yeah." 

And I really was excited. I impatiently tried to keep myself busy before it was acceptable for me to start cooking. Sam came back to the apartment that night to help me cook. I laid out all of the ingredients and told Sam a list of directions. He helped me prep and cook the chicken and then combine the chicken and other spices into a large pot in which I was going to brew the stew. The more time passed and the more that the Paprikash started to actually look like Paprikash, the more I was reminded of home. It was cathartic to smell the scent of simmering Paprikash again, before my life was changed for the worse. It felt like my mother was standing beside me, watching as I stirred our family's favorite meal. While I left the Paprikash simmering for an hour, I melted the chocolate as Sam washed the strawberries. I got two mega-sized cartons of strawberries and enough chocolate to last a lifetime just so that I could make an extra platter for Tony and Pepper, Clint, Sam, Natasha and Steve, and, of course, one for Peter and me. I divided the strawberries onto five plates and left it in the fridge to cool.

“You’re running out of time,” Sam said, gesturing toward the clock.

I laughed. “It’s 4:15. Peter’s not supposed to be over until 6:15, 6:30.”

“I don’t know how long it takes for girls to get ready,” Sam said, defensively.

“I guess you have a point,” I said. “Will you help me set up?”

“Sure,” Sam said.

I had the picture vision in mind for how I wanted to the room to be set up: while I wanted to eat on the ground on top of the picnic blanket, I also knew that resting glasses and candles on a carpet wasn’t the greatest idea. Instead, I put away the magazines and coasters on the coffee table away and spread the checkered blanket on top of that. I spread rose petals onto the kitchen counter, the table and around the living room. I set up candles on the mantle place and on practically any flat, open counter space. Natasha gave me permission to use her expensive China and I carefully arranged these plates onto the coffee table. When the living room was set up the way I imagined it and the food was all ready beyond the salad that I would make later, I went to get ready.

Natasha was normally the one who did my hair and makeup so I knew that whatever I tried to do would pale in comparison. I had, however, practiced enough times and watched Natasha enough times to understand the basics of makeup and glamour, such as the difference between contouring and bronzing. Once I was finished, I looked like an enhanced version of myself. Not to mean that I was wearing a mask – I could still see my freckles underneath my makeup – but everything just looked more even and glowy. Hair was my weak point: I got frustrated with curling it so after a while I slung it into a loose ponytail. I was, without shame, most excited for the outfit that I got last night when I was shopping with Pepper. Pepper bought me a beautiful and very expensive black jumpsuit. It was strapless and simple but there was an elegance and sophistication to it. I pulled out a gold necklace from my jewelry drawer. It was one of the few necklaces that S.H.I.E.L.D. supplied for me that I actually liked. I sprayed perfume on before walking out of my bedroom.

“Wow,” Sam said. “You clean up nice.”

“Thanks,” I said as I checked the paprikash.

“How’s it looking?”

“Good,” I said. “I doubt we’ll be finishing this whole thing so if you come back tonight you can have some.”

Sam chuckled. “I’m holding you to that.” He got up. “I’ll be in Clint’s apartment. Don’t do or say anything you wouldn’t want an adult to see or hear.”

“Please don’t make this weird,” I muttered.

Sam laughed as he left.

Peter was supposed to be here in a little under twenty minutes. The paprikash was done and it just needed to cool. The chocolate strawberries were all finished and arranged in a spiral shape on a gold-embroidered china plate. I made the salad, lit the candles and had J.A.R.V.I.S. dim the lights and start the fire. When I was all finished, I sat down on the couch and took a few deep breaths.

 _He won’t hurt me_ , I told myself three times. It was routine every time Peter was coming over. I knew he wouldn’t hurt me, not just because there was always a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent watching the two of us on a date, but I still needed to tell myself that.

The doorbell rang and I excitedly went to go get it. Peter was standing outside, one hand holding a bouquet of yellow flowers and the other shoved into the pocket of his slacks. He gave me a goofy smile. “Hey – hi – wow – whoa,” he exclaimed as he got a full look at the apartment. “Damn, this place looks awesome and you – you look awesome.”

“Thanks–…”

“And it smells amazing!” Peter said. He went to sit at the island. “What are you making?”

“Paprikash,” I said. “It’s an Eastern European dish. My mother used to make it for me a lot when I was younger.”

“Oh Nat used to make this you?” Peter said.

I drew in a sharp breath. “Um, no, not Natasha. My – my real mother.”

The smile on Peter’s face faded. “Oh… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to–…”

“It’s okay,” I said, quickly. I pulled out the two plates of salad and directed Peter toward the living room table. We situated ourselves on the ground. “I was adopted when I was ten years old. My parents were killed in an epidemic when I was six. I don’t remember what disease and Nat and Steve didn’t know. I was really surprised when my foster parents said that I was being adopted. I always thought that adults would go for younger kids.” Of course, I was making up part of the story but it was still grounded in the truth and if this was the most honest that I could be, I would take it. “Even though my parents died when I was six, I still remember so much of them. Whenever I had nightmares my dad would put me on his lap and my mother would sing a lullaby.”

“My parents died when I was eight,” Peter said. “Car accident. I was so young that I barely understood what was going on. All I knew was that my parents were gone and they weren’t coming back and that I had to live with Aunt May and Uncle Ben for a while. My dad was good at anything related to math or science. He was an engineer and sometimes I thought he cared more about his work than he did his family. He and my mother used to argue about it all the time. Once my parents died, I realized how wrong I was to think that.” He hesitated and then asked, “Did – did you see them die?” Peter asked.

“Yeah…” I said. It felt so good to tell the truth. “Yeah, I did. Did you see your parents – I guess if they were in a car accident, you’ll probably didn’t see them…”

Peter shrugged. “I saw Uncle Ben – I was there.”

“When…” I started.

“When he was shot. We got a fight. Uncle Ben ran after me and I blew him off. Then some guy robbed this little grocery store and Uncle Ben tried to help. I was across the street when I saw him get shot.” Peter let out a deep sigh. “I don’t know which one is worse: watching someone you love get shot in front of you or watching your parents on their deathbed when you know there isn’t anything you could do.”

I cringed.  _Both hurt just as bad_ , I thought to myself. 

“Guess you and I have a lot more in common than we thought," I finally said. 

“Yeah, especially in salad dressing taste,” Peter said; I could tell that he wanted to change the subject and I was okay with that. “What is this?”

I shrugged. “Some expensive salad dressing my parents got from an equally expensive and fancy grocery store.” I cleared the plates for us and dished out the paprikash. Just smelling the paprikash made me feel like a child again. “It’s a little bit hot but my mother used to always make it with some extra spices so I hope you don’t mind.”

“Don’t worry, I love spicy food,” Peter said. We ate for a couple minutes in silence. “This is really good. You’ve got to send me the recipe.”

“Oh, I – I didn’t really use a recipe,” I shrugged.

“No recipe? I thought you said – when was the last time you made this?”

“I haven’t had it since my parents died but they made it so often that all I needed was a little bit of a refresher and then I just improvised my way through it,” I admitted.

“Gotta admit, I’m pretty impressed,” Peter said, laughing.

We ate dinner slowly and we just talked for what felt like hours over _everything_. Peter never me asked any questions about past, which was nice because I never really found myself lying. The questions he did ask were simple: favorite song, favorite artist, favorite scent, favorite everything. I found myself lingering toward anything that related to my family. Dinner passed and we still had things to talk about. Dessert was gone quickly. At that point, we were full and content and just happy together. I never found myself looking at the clock, waiting for Peter to leave, and Peter never once looked bored. 

“Do you wanna go for a walk?” Peter asked.

“I’ll be right behind you,” Sam said.

I nodded. “Yeah, let’s go.”

Peter helped to blow out the candles. He draped his jacket around my shoulders and opened the door me to the outside. It was bitter and cold and busy but there was something so beautiful about the way that New York glowed at nighttime.

“So where are your parents? Did they agree to leave the house for you tonight?” Peter asked.

I shook my head. “They’re out of a town.”

“Oh. Where did they go?”

“Um…uh, New Jersey.”

Peter chuckled. “New Jersey?”

“It’s for a business trip for my mom,” I said, quickly. I don’t why I was so bad at lying to Peter when it was so easy for me to lie to everyone else. “They’re supposed to be back tonight or tomorrow depending on whenever my mom finishes what she needs to get done.”

There was silence and then Peter asked. “Do you think you could get Tony Stark to look over one of my research projects? The one I wanted to submit the science fair? I mean, you could ask him as an early Christmas present. Wait, do you celebrate Christmas?”

“My real father was Jewish but I don’t practice that religion,” I answered.

“So I can say Christmas and it would be alright?” Peter said.

I nodded. “That would be fine.”

“Sweet! But seriously, do you think Mr. Stark would help me out a little bit? And maybe write me a letter of recommendation for college next year?” Peter asked.

I laughed. “Is that the only reason you and I are together? So that you can be in Tony Stark’s good graces?”

“What? No, no of course not. The fact that you know Tony Stark is just an added bonus. It's just, I really want to get into MIT and he's a _very_ well loved MIT alumni,” Peter said.

I had no idea what MIT was so I just smiled. “I'm sure you'll get in, even without Tony’s help.”

“The real question is whether or not I'd get in on a scholarship. There's no way that I'd be able to afford MIT, even with fixing computers and TVs on the weekend,” Peter said. “I don't want Aunt May to have to take out big loans or sell a kidney for me to go to college. And if MIT doesn't work out, I'm sure there'll be another college out there for me. What about you? Got a college in mind?”

I hesitated. “There are just so many options… I honestly have no idea.”

“That's okay. It's still junior year. You don't need to have an idea,” Peter reassured. “Are you getting cold? We can always head back to your place.”

“Sure,” I said. He lightly slipped his hand into my own and we started walking back. When I made it to the sixth floor, I stopped just short of going into my apartment. I could hear voices.

“I guess your parents are back?” Peter said

“It's okay, Wanda. It's just us,” came Stark’s voice, confirming Peter's thoughts.

Sighing in relief, I unlocked door. What was once excitement to see the others quickly turned into fear: the moment I walked into the apartment, I knew that something wasn't right. It wasn't just Steve and Natasha eating dinner or whispering in hushed voices at the kitchen table. It was all four — Steve, Natasha, Tony and Sam — cooped up in the living room. Natasha was sitting on the couch, Steve beside her, an arm wrapped around her shoulders. He was holding her close, gently running his fingers across her back. Getting a better look at her, I noticed that her eyes were bright red: she had clearly just been crying. Judging from the look on Steve's face, he was clearly in pain, but I also knew that he was trying very hard not to show this pain for Natasha’s sake. Tony was pacing the floor, the bags under his eyes looking more and more prominent; Sam was sitting on the coffee table in front of Natasha and Steve, his hands folded up together.

“What's Mr. Wilson doing here?” Peter asked.

Natasha buried her head into her hands and I could hear her choke on a sob. Steve wrapped his other arm around her. Peter's half-confused face turned into a face of shock and panic. I looked at Tony and Sam for some sort of explanation. Tony walked closer to the two of us. He pressed his hands on my shoulders and I could tell just by the look in his eyes that I wasn't going to be hearing good news.

“What-what happened?” I said.

“Wanda,” Tony whispered, “Clint’s dead.”

My stomach dropped. Do you know those moments where you do something incredibly wrong and you lied in bed at night thinking over and over again you wanted to wake up the next morning and realize that you dreamt up this horrible, horrible event? It was exactly how I felt when Tony whispered those two words to me. He wasn't dead. He must be faking his death so that he could leave S.H.I.E.L.D. to be with his family. Clint wouldn't just die on them — on me.

I turned around slowly. Though Peter had no idea who Clint was, it was clear to him that Clint was of the utmost importance to my family.  So when I asked him to leave, he did so without asking any questions; he didn't say anything about Tony Stark standing in my living room or the fact that the school counselor was sitting on my coffee table. He said his goodbyes, gave me a hug and closed the door behind him.

When Peter was gone, I turned back around. Tony was still standing right by me and he pulled me into a tight hug. I didn't wrap my arms around him and reciprocate the embrace, not because I was repulsed by the idea of hugging Tony Stark, but because there was no need for me to hug him. Clint could not be dead. Clint promised me that he was going to see it to the end. And he didn't just promise me! He promised to Laura and Lila and Nathaniel. He promised his family that he was going to be okay. Clint could never lie to his family like that.

“I don't believe you,” I whispered quietly enough so that only Tony could hear. “I — I… it's not true!” I looked over at Steve, who was still cradling Natasha. Natasha would never cry unless…

Tears welled in my eyes. Sure, Clint was flawed but he was a father. He was courageous. He was a hero who sacrificed himself for S.H.I.E.L.D. I found myself clutching onto Tony as I cried. He held onto me, tighter and tighter.

“God, what are we supposed to tell his family?” I said.

“I'll make sure someone tells Clint’s parents,” Steve said.

Natasha looked at me and met eyes. “Oh no,” Natasha whispered.

“What?” Sam asked.

“Clint had a family,” Natasha muttered. She sniffled and looked up at the others. “He and Fury arranged to keep it under the radar for their protection. He has a wife and two kids and another one on the way… Oh god, they’re going to be devastated. Laura was always worried… I’ll give them a call,” she said. Natasha stood up and went to her and Steve’s bedroom.

I went to sit down beside Steve. His face was twisted with anguish. For someone who always acted so strong, possibly for my sake, I could see that he was in complete pain. I rested my hand on his and Steve grasped it, tightly. Tony went to sit in the recliner and put his head in his hands. His shoulders heaved up and down as he wept for the loss of a friend. Sam went to put a comforting hand on Tony’s shoulder, his face somber. We sat there in silence until Natasha came back out of the bedroom.

“I told Laura that we’d come to see her tomorrow,” Natasha said, “She wants to meet us.”

That night, Sam and Tony agreed to stay at our apartment so that we could all be together. We cleaned up the mess that I had made that night and then rearranged the living room. Sam offered to sleep on the floor so that Tony could get the couch; they both refused to let me give up my bed. It wouldn’t have been a big deal for me since I wasn’t going to sleep anyway. I stayed up all night seeing Clint’s face. A smile that quickly turned into a look of fear as his life drained away. I probably only slept for a couple of hours, if that, and the next morning came by slowly. It appeared that neither Natasha nor Steve had gotten a good night rest either. They trudged their way out of their bedroom clothed in sweats. We agreed to give Laura the leftovers from yesterday and the only time we stopped on the road was to buy Clint’s family some flowers. Outside, it was as gloomy as everyone felt with loud thunder and a downpour of rain.

When J.A.R.V.I.S. pulled into the tiny dirt road that led to Clint’s home, I felt my stomach knot up in pain. Steve, Tony and Sam were staring at the new environment with wide curiosity while Natasha was holding back tears the entire way there. The car pulled to a stop very soon after that. Laura was sitting on the porch outside, her hair in a messy bun with strands falling out. I was the first to get out of the car and immediately I found myself in Laura’s arms. It was as comforting as if my own mother was holding onto me.

“I-I’m so,” I started.

“Shhh,” Laura whispered. Her voice was shaking. “Thanking you for coming.” I let go of her warm embrace as I saw Natasha approaching. “Nat, it’s been so long.” Laura choked on a sob and Natasha and I both immediately grasped onto her. We stayed there for a long moment until Laura finally pulled away. She turned to look at Steve, Stark and Sam. “I’m so glad to finally meet you. Captain Steve Rogers, Tony Stark and Sam Wilson. Clint **—**  he talked so much about the three of you.”

Steve walked forward. He went to shake Laura’s hand. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. We brought some flowers and some food. I know it’s not much but–…”

“Thank you,” Laura interrupted. “I’m sorry we couldn’t have met on more fortunate circumstances.”

“You have a beautiful home,” Tony said.

“I appreciate that,” Laura said.

“I — I used to work at the VA before I joined S.H.I.E.L.D.,” Sam explained. “If you need anything at all, even if you need someone to pick up some eggs, just give me a call.”

Laura smiled. “Thank you.” There was a pause and then Laura quickly said, “God, I’m being so impolite! Please, come inside.”

She held the door open. The minute I stepped inside, I had forgotten how much I had missed Clint’s home from the colors, the musky scent, the fireplace cracking. Laura gestured for us to sit in the living room around the fireplace to get warm. She brought out blankets, warm cups of tea for the adults, hot chocolate for me and went to put the paprikash on the stove to heat it up. I barely had the chance to sit down before I heard a ruckus of footsteps. The five of us stood up. Lila and Cooper were tearing down the staircase, still dressed in their pajamas and their eyes red. Cooper went straight for Natasha, who held her arms out and embraced him. Lila stopped at first and stared up at the three strangers. Then, she caught my attention.

“Wanda,” she said.

I hugged her tightly. “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too,” Lila said. She looked at Steve, Tony and Sam, who were all staring down at the little girl in disbelief. “Are you daddy’s friends?”

Steve nodded. “Yeah, yeah we know your father.”

“Do you when he’s coming home?” Lila asked.

Steve’s face fell.

“I told you,” Cooper said, sternly. “Dad’s not coming home. Not for a while, at least.”

“Why not?” Lila asked. “Does it have something to do with why mommy kept crying last night?”

I met eyes with Natasha. Before we could say anything, Laura came in holding a tray of six bowls and two cups, all of which contained the Paprikash that I made. She gave Cooper and Lila the two cups. “Why don’t you two go upstairs for a little bit? I need to talk to daddy’s friends.”

“Okay,” Lila said. She gave Natasha one more hug and then turned to look at me. “You’re not going to leave me, right? You’re going to come back?”

I smiled. “Of course,” I said, and I truly hoped that I wasn’t lying to this little girl.

After Lila and Cooper disappeared upstairs, Laura divvied up the bowls of Paprikash and we ate in silence for a few moments. Looking at Laura’s face, I felt an overwhelming sense of guilt. I know it’s egotistical to sit here and think that Clint died because of me. I still felt that way, and I don’t know how long it’ll take for me to forgive myself for Clint’s death. I wasn’t sure if I would ever be able to move past the fact that there’s just another child who will have to grow up without a parent because of Hydra.

“How much do they know?” Steve asked.

“Enough to know that their father is gone,” Laura said. “I don’t – I don’t want to explain the details to them until they’re older. I doubt they’d understand it, anyway.”

“Their father died a hero,” Steve said.

“That gives me peace of mind, at least.” Laura took a long sip of tea. “Did he suffer?”

Steve looked like he was biting down tears. “We did everything we could to make sure that he didn’t. I – I’m sorry, Laura. I could’ve saved him if I had just…”

“Don’t linger on ‘ifs’. That was one of Clint’s rules in this family,” Laura said. She touched Steve’s arm. “Thank you for coming here today, all of you. It’s nice to have some of the people that Clint truly did love here with us.” She cleared her throat. “Oh, Natasha, there’s something that Clint would want you to have.” Laura pulled out a small necklace from her pocket. It had a beautiful red jewel.

“Oh my god,” Natasha said, her eyes wide. She took hold of the necklace. “He kept this after these years?”

“Yeah. For a while I thought he liked it more than he liked his wedding band,” Laura said, laughing. “He never explained to me what it was from.”

“Budapest. A mission a while back,” Natasha said. “‘You and I remember Budapest very differently’ he would always say when I brought it up." 

“Old spy stories? I expect to hear that one before this over,” Tony said.

Natasha chuckled. “‘Over our deathbed’ Clint would respond when someone asks about it.” Natasha continued to stare at the necklace for a very long time until she slipped it into her front pocket and looked back at Laura.

“Thank you for always having Clint’s back. All of you,” Laura finally said.

What started out as despair and pain quickly evolved to a reflection of a life that was as beautiful and precious as the life that Clint Barton had. Natasha was very set on making sure that she didn’t reveal any details about previous missions, but she still mentioned times of laughter and happiness. Lila and Cooper were invited downstairs again, and they were sitting in the corner drawing and giggling as Natasha recalled stories of Clint that nothing beyond his true heart and his loveable humor. My laughter helped to ease my grief, but there was still numbness that I knew would take a long time to get past. Getting to see Laura, holding herself together, inspired me even further. God, how I hoped I could be like her, staying strong for the people who love her. When it was time to go, I found myself holding back tears as I had to say goodbye to a family that I was learning to love too quickly. I promised to keep in touch with Laura and gave Cooper and Lila a tight, comforting hug. Clint’s little girl fit so perfectly in my arms that I never wanted to let her go. Natasha gave Laura, Lila and Cooper the same goodbye and Steve, Sam and Tony, however shell shocked they may be that a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent has a family, looked admirably upon the Barton’s. Steve thanked Laura one more time and we were off back to the apartment. I checked my phone in the car on the drive home:

 _Are you alright?_ Peter texted.

I sent him a quick reply. _I will be_.

 _If you need anything, I’m a phone call away,_ Peter promised.

I smiled. It was nice to have Peter in my life.

J.A.R.V.I.S. dropped us off at the apartment, where we were hurriedly got out of the rain and up the stairs. We agreed that it would be nice to just watch a movie and take the day off for a while, but when we got up to the apartment we realized that it wasn’t deserted. Nick Fury was standing in our living room, his ridiculous black cape swooping around every time he moved and his scars, pink and rough, potent against his complexion. Beside him was a woman who I had never seen before.

Her skin was as light as snow. She had peachy lips and wide, dark brown eyes that were full of curiosity as she took in our appearances. Her straight blonde hair framed her round face. I knew she had to be a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, otherwise Fury wouldn’t have brought her here. But given her job, she had an uncharacteristically soft expression. The woman stood tall, even though she several inches shorter than Fury. In contrast to the rest of us, she was dressed very formally in black slacks and a blue dress shirt.

As non-threatening as she may look, she was still a stranger who now knew my identity. I gasped and hid myself behind Sam.

“Who the hell is that?” Natasha said, one hand on her gun.

“Stand down Agent Romanoff. This is Sharon Carter. She’ll be Barton’s replacement,” Fury explained.

“Barton died yesterday and you already have a replacement?” Tony said in disbelief.

“I didn’t want our asset to go any longer without a whole team there to protect her. I’d learn to trust Sharon Carter. And speaking of our asset, Agent Carter, this is Wanda Maximoff,” Fury said.

Sharon took a step toward me and I backed away almost immediately. “Sorry,” I stammered.

“Don’t be,” she said. “How old are you, if you don’t mind my asking?”

I didn’t answer.

“She’s seventeen,” Fury said for me. “Don’t mind her. She’s just a little shy.”

“I think she has every damn right to be a little shy,” Natasha snapped. She was still pressing one hand on her gun, and the closer Sharon got to me, the closer Natasha got to pulling her gun out. “I’ve heard about a lot of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents but not a Sharon Carter. What are her credentials?”

“My alias is Agent 13. Perhaps you’ve heard of that,” Sharon offered.

Natasha shook her head. “Are you sure she’s right the option for this?”

“She just saw our asset’s face so she’s our _only_ option,” Fury said, and that was final. “Agent Carter will work well with you, trust me on that. Agent Carter will live on the floor upstairs – I thought it’d be a little weird if she moved into Clint’s apartment the day after he died. She’ll be posing as a nurse for her day job. Perhaps you could invite Sharon to come over tonight to bring her up to speed on everything.”

Natasha and Steve looked at either before Steve quickly smiled and said, “Of course she’s welcome to come over tonight. I suppose introductions are in order, if we’re going to be working together. I’m Captain Steve Rogers. This is Natasha Romanoff, Sam Wilson and Tony Stark.”

“Pleasure,” Sharon said, reaching to shake Steve’s hand.

“Is that all?” Natasha asked Fury bitterly.

Fury narrowed his eyes but didn’t say anything about Natasha’s tone. “Agent Johnson is going through all the files we got from the raid at S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters. Most of it’s pretty damn well encrypted so it’ll take a little bit before we get access to those files. In the meantime, why don’t you get acquainted with your new teammate?” Fury swept through the kitchen to the doorway when he stopped and turned around. “And Natasha, take your hand off your gun. Don’t kill your new partner.” Fury left without saying another word.

I turned to look at Natasha. Despite Fury’s orders, she still hadn’t budged and her fingers were gripping the hilt of her gun tightly. Steve noticed as well. “Nat, maybe–…” Steve started. Natasha shrugged his arm away.

“It’s okay,” Sharon said, holding her hands up as though surrendering. “I know that you and Clint were very close and I am so sorry for your loss. You don’t have trust me yet – that’s something that I’ll have to earn. But I can promise you that I’m not a double agent. I want to see Hydra burn as badly you do. I’m only here to help.”

“We appreciate that,” Steve said. “ _Nat!_ ”

She stared daggers at until Sharon until finally removing her hand from her gun. “I – I’m sorry. It’s been a long few days.”

Sharon smiled. “You all look like you could use some rest. Why don’t you all go to bed? I can make dinner,” she offered.

No one was very happy or comfortable with that idea. Steve insisted that Natasha gets some sleep. She didn’t argue. She went to their bedroom and closed the door behind him, but whether or not she actually slept was up to her. Sam and Tony both went home for the day but planned on coming back for dinner. Steve wanted me to go to bed but he didn’t seem to have the energy to argue with me when I refused. I sat in the living room, turned on a movie and listened to Sharon and Steve’s conversations.

I knew that Steve didn’t completely trust Sharon, either, but I also knew that Steve was approaching the situation much differently than Natasha did. He was never aggressive and distrustful up front. I also knew that with every question Steve formulated and directed toward Sharon was only meant to learn more about this mysterious agent who was supposed to replace Clint. Sharon, however, wasn’t dumb. She knew exactly why Steve was asking the questions that he did, so she answered them without hesitation. There was no way for me to know if she was lying, especially considering that she was a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent and lying was second nature to her. Their conversation was like a terrible game of tug-of-war: Steve was trying desperately to win by rapid-firing questions to see if Sharon would slip up, and Sharon was simply holding onto the rope. She wouldn’t let Steve pull it too hard, and she would never pull back. It was a weird dynamic but I could tell by the answers that Steve was slowly warming up to Sharon.

That sentiment wasn’t shared with Natasha or me. One day wouldn’t be enough for us to start to trust Sharon. Dinner that night was quiet. Steve tried to bring up some of the stories that Sharon had told him but Natasha never seemed too interested in listening. When Tony and Sam came over, Steve tried again with introducing bits and pieces of Sharon that he had previously learned. Neither were as paranoid or suspicious as Natasha, so both were very open to learn more about their partner. As expected, Sam warmed up to Sharon pretty quickly. Tony didn’t seem too bothered by Sharon, either. Sharon was nice, I had to admit. But being nice doesn’t necessarily mean that you’re trustworthy.

Steve wanted to see how well Sharon could fight so that Sunday night, six of us went to the underground base where we watched Sharon try to withhold a fight against Steve and Natasha. She was very talented and very agile but I could tell by the way that Natasha was throwing punches that Nat was taking out some built-up frustration. Steve decided to call it good when Sharon was sporting a very nice-looking bloody nose and busted lip.

“Considering who you were fighting, that was pretty impressive,” Sam complimented.

“Girl’s got a mean right hook,” Sharon said, wiping blood off of her face.

Natasha smiled – it was by no means a friendly smile. “I’ve got loads of practice.”

“I think we can call it a night,” Steve said, and we headed back to the apartment. When everyone left and it was just Steve, Natasha and I again, Steve sat me down and said, “Wanda, you don’t have to go to school tomorrow if you don’t think that you’re ready.”

I shook my head. “I’ll be okay. Clint wouldn’t want my life to be put on hold.”

“It’s also okay to grieve,” Steve promised.

“I’m fine,” I insisted.

I took an ibuprofen to help with the headache I had been cradling all day and then collapsed in bed. I didn’t sleep well that night, but I didn’t expect that I would have. I slept in that morning, deciding not to do my hair or makeup for school. I threw on some leggings and a jacket. Steve and Natasha, who both weren’t going into work that day, walked me to school. I hugged them goodbye. Waiting for me by my locker was Peter, kicking his skateboard back and forth.

“Hey,” Peter said. He pulled me into a hug before I said anything. “Are you okay?”

I nodded. “Yeah, no, I’ll be okay.”

I was telling the truth about that. Clint’s death will sting and will hurt for a very long time but Clint wouldn’t want me torturing myself over his death. For now, I had to cope. I had to grieve. And I had to accept.

* * *

Days since Clint’s death turned into weeks. Natasha, as expected, had the hardest time moving forward. Days went when she only said one or two things and hardly left the apartment. I knew that Steve was hurting as well, but he focused on making sure that Natasha and I were okay.

Clint had two funerals to commemorate his life. One was very public and held in a very expensive funeral home that all of S.H.I.E.L.D. was invited to attend. I was forbidden from going to that funeral simply on the grounds that people would be asking too many questions about the random seventeen year old girl that just happened to be there. The second funeral was an intimate one, consisting of just Steve, Natasha, Sharon, Tony, Sam, Clint’s family and myself. This one was held outside in the cemetery. There was no music playing in the background, no priest sending Clint away. It was just Clint’s family, as Laura put it.

We dressed in all black: Natasha, Laura, Sharon, Lila and I wore simple black dresses with no lace and no extra designs. Tony and Cooper were dressed in suits, and Steve and Sam showed up in their old army uniforms. I watched as Natasha and Laura stood in front of us and delivered beautiful, heart-breaking eulogies about a man that they both loved but in different ways. Tony left Clint’s bow and arrow to be buried with him, and Natasha also left that necklace that Laura gave to her. Lila snuck in a drawing of her family and Cooper added a broken screwdriver. There was something so powerful about how much Clint Barton had accomplished being Clint Barton, not being a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. It was moving to know that Clint could balance a family and his job for as long as he did. It appeared to me that neither Laura nor her family would regret allowing Clint to continue as a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, even if that led to his death. I found that very admirable.

After the funeral, the Barton’s made it a point to visit us regularly, and my relationship with Clint’s family continued to blossom. Cooper was so independent and so driven like his father and Lila had her mother’s heart. They would come over after school. Laura would sit with Natasha and talk while Lila, Cooper, Steve and I would color or play with legos. I could tell how much Steve enjoyed being around Clint’s kid – and how jealous he was of Clint. We were all getting by given the circumstances. It was saddest when Lila kept asking what happened to her father and no one would have a response.

Sharon was very grateful to be invited to the Barton’s funeral. Laura greeted Sharon warmly and they sat down and talked, not about S.H.I.E.L.D. and not Sharon’s new assignment but about life. The best red wine they’ve tried. Breakfast places they liked to go to. The best time to walk in Central Park. Sharon acted very warm-hearted to Laura and apologized more than once for Laura’s recent loss. The two women, despite their differences, came together and laughed and related to each other.

“You should be more open to her,” Laura said. She was having dinner at our apartment and was currently helping Natasha and me serve up apple pie. “ _Both of you_.”

“You know why I can’t,” Natasha whispered. “When is your due date?”

“In January and don’t change the subject on me, Natasha,” Laura scolded. “She’s doing what she can and I can tell by the way she comes over to make dinner and when she offers to drive Wanda to school but you won’t let her – and yes, she did tell me all of this – that she wants to help. You two both need to be more open to her.”

Sharon walked over to us and we fell silent. “Did I interrupt something?”

“No,” Natasha said, quickly. “Um, it’s just – Laura and I were talking about how the three of us should go out for drinks some time… when those three are on Wanda-duty.”

The smile on Laura and Sharon’s face expressed nothing but genuine happiness. “That sounds like a great idea,” Sharon agreed. She pulled out her phone. “Let’s check to see when it’s Tony and Sam’s or Steve and Tony’s turn.”

I left to go join Steve, Tony and Sam at the kitchen table. They were whispering in hushes tones. “Are you sure you have all of them?” Steve said.

“I’m positive,” Tony said. “J.A.R.V.I.S. is going through them now. He’ll probably be faster than this Melinda May or whoever the hell is going through the files.”

“Isn’t this treason or something?” Sam asked.

“Making copies of the Hydra files? Treason might be a strong word,” Tony said. “Fury will never find out and if we do crack these files sooner than his men do, he won’t mind.”

I sat down beside them. “You guys downloaded the files from the raid?”

Steve bit down on his bottom lip. “You weren’t supposed to hear that. Just make sure that Sharon doesn’t find out. She’s in Fury’s pocket deeper than the rest of us and we don’t want Fury finding out.”

“Of course I won’t tell her,” I reassured. “Do you think you’ll find anything out any time soon?”

“Come on,” Tony said, “Who do you think I am? Just another S.H.I.E.L.D. agent?”

It put me at ease to know that Tony was going to be going through the Hydra files. It wasn’t so much that I didn’t think Fury’s men were capable of cracking Hydra’s encryptions. It was just that, even if Tony doesn’t tell me what he gets from the files, I know that he would tell Steve. We were actually accomplishing something that way. All I had to do now was wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. I hope that I captured exactly how you as readers believe Wanda would react to Clint's death.


	16. Wanda Maximoff/Steve Rogers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wanda celebrates her first Thanksgiving at the Barton's. Steve learns new information about Hydra.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is going to be a little different. I decided that the first half is going to be in Wanda's perspective and the second half will be in Steve's. I'll denote very clearly who the narrator is. While this chapter was originally supposed to be strictly Steve's perspective, there were aspects that I wanted in Wanda's so I did it this way.
> 
> Hope you enjoy and, as always, thank you for reading.
> 
> In the beginning of the chapter, Sharon also talks about her aunt, Margaret. It didn't work well for Sharon to also be Peggy's niece, so we just have to pretend that they're two separate characters.

Chapter Sixteen – Part One: Wanda Maximoff

Two weeks passed after Clint’s death and still no word from Tony or Fury about the files. At school, word got out about Clint and we quickly crafted a cover story. We exploited New York’s stereotype of mugging. Before I knew it, everyone was coming up to me and apologizing for the dear family friend who had lost his life in a bad mugging. I felt like it was a dishonor to Clint’s memory to spread a lie about how he died. I also, however, knew that it was necessary to cover up what happened. We also had to explain why the school psychologist was at my apartment. It was easy enough to say that my parents thought I would need someone to talk to after losing someone that was dear to me.

Sam continued living up to his cover as psychologist. Steve insisted that Sam and I ‘talk’ at least three times a week for an hour, and it took me longer than I’d like to admit to realize that Sam was becoming my personal therapist. I was surprised to find that speaking with Sam actually helped. It was nice, and I resisted it a lot less than expected. Whenever Sam asked me, “How does that make you feel?” or “describe your emotions about that”, I didn’t find myself getting angry. I almost liked sharing it with Sam. Comms were also off during this conversation for my privacy. Being able to listen to Sam give advice and to find an outlet to express everything that I was trying to contain, I realized that life was starting to get better – easier, even. I still missed Clint with all my heart and sometimes I still cried myself to sleep thinking about him, but the  hole in my chest that Clint left once he died was starting to ease. I didn’t feel so sickened and depressed when I thought of him. The nightmares that picked up directly after Clint died were starting to go away again.

As time passed, Sharon started growing on the others and me. She was firm like Natasha, quick-witted like Tony, open-minded like Sam and admirably focused like Steve. She was also very good with schoolwork, a department which, besides Tony, the others lacked skill. Natasha left a couple weeks after Clint passed to stay with Laura and help get his family back on her feet, so Sharon was over at our apartment more often than not. Everyday, Sharon sat down with me while I did my homework in the kitchen. To stay busy, she brought a novel to read, but the moment I felt a little confused or unsure of an answer, she was there to help.

It was different to deal with an agent who cared so little about keeping her life private. Coming from Natasha, Steve and Clint, who refused to let me into any part of their life beyond snapshots here and there, Sharon was an open book. Steve and I would sit around at the dinner table and listen to Sharon talk about her life. Born and raised in Virginia, Sharon was fortunate enough to live off of old money: large homes, private schools and expensive trips. She worked hard in school. Her parents wanted her to be a doctor in private practice or something that generates lots of income. Sharon had different ideas.

“Margaret, my great aunt,” Sharon explained, “was a rebel in the family. She didn’t pursue a career in lounging around on the countryside like everyone else I was related to. She made ranks in the CIA, FBI and Homeland Security until she settled for S.H.I.E.L.D. Margaret grew up in a time that women weren’t treated with the respect that we deserved but she prevailed and she never gave up. I wanted that. I enlisted after college. My parents tried to persuade me otherwise but Margaret was always there to support me. She bought me my first thigh holster.”

“Very practical,” Steve said.

“And very stylish, too,” Sharon said. “Margaret was an inspiration to me and I followed her footsteps. Fury recognized the name and the legacy so he invited me to be a part of S.H.I.E.L.D. A lot more secrets than even the CIA but I don’t regret my decision at all.”

“How do you join S.H.I.E.L.D.?” I asked.

Steve chuckled. “Are you considering joining afterwards?”

I shrugged. “Peter mentioned something about wanting to go to MIT after he finishes high school. It just got me thinking about what happens if I survive Hydra and what I would do…”

Steve smiled, and for once, it seemed that Steve was confident I would outlive this part of my life. “You would live the life you hadn’t had the chance to live. What’s something that you’ve always wanted to do?”

“Travel,” I said. “Maybe create actual pictures for scrapbooks.”

“We’ll take you to Disneyland,” Sharon promised. “Every kid loves it.”

“Or the Iowa State Fair,” Steve offered.

“The Iowa State Fair?” Sharon said, laughing.

“What?” Steve said. “After my first tour, I went to the Iowa State Fair with–…” The smile slipped from Steve’s face. “With an old high school friend,” Steve quickly said. Both Sharon and I knew there was something bothering Steve, but we also could tell that it wasn’t something Steve wanted to divulge.

* * *

Thanksgiving came quickly. Steve, Sharon, Tony, Sam and I met Natasha at the Barton’s where we planned on spending the weekend. I excitedly packed my duffel bag, genuinely looking forward to this weekend. Thanksgiving isn’t celebrated in Sokovia, nor is there a similar celebration. All I knew of the holiday was that families come together with a bountiful amount of food and they eat all night long until their sick to their stomach. Regardless of the stereotypes that Thanksgiving had in my household – mostly that the holiday wasn’t so much about being thankful but was more about getting time off of work and eating lots of food – I was excited to get away from Manhattan and spend time with the people I cared about. I didn’t just miss Natasha, either, who was gone for a week. I also missed Laura, Cooper and Lila. The moment that we got to their house late Wednesday night, they rushed out and gave me monster hugs. Laura followed shortly.

“Come play! Come play!” Lila shrieked. She grabbed Steve and me and started dragging us toward the front door.

“Lila, let them get their stuff in their rooms first!” Laura said. “Why don’t you and Cooper help get their things?” When we got into the house, Laura turned to us. “We don’t have that many guest rooms so it’s gonna be a little bit tight on space. I’m fine giving up my bed–…”

“That won’t be an option,” Steve said, firmly. “You, of all people, need a comfortable bed.” We all agreed, given that Laura’s due date was in just a couple of months. “We’re all fine sleeping on the ground.”

“Some of you might have to,” Laura admitted. “If you two wouldn’t mind, you and Natasha could share a bedroom together?” She asked Steve.

“We do that already,” Natasha said, “so I’m fine with that.”

“As am I,” Steve agreed.

“Wonderful. Lila and Cooper already agreed to give up their bedroom for you Sharon. Tony and Sam, there’s a shed out back that was Clint’s ‘mancave’ or whatever you boys call it. I got a blow up mattress and a couch for you two. Wanda, I hope you don’t mind sharing the living room with Lila and Cooper. One couch has a pull out bed that I thought Lila and Cooper could share and the loveseat should be big enough for you,” Laura said.

“It all sounds great,” Steve said for us. “Thank you for having us over.”

“Oh, it’s no problem,” Laura said. “It’s nice to have company for a change. We have a master bathroom, a guest bathroom, one down here and then one in the shed if you want to freshen up a bit before dinner.”

“But I want to play with Wanda and Uncle Steve!” Lila whined.

Laura looked at her child, disapprovingly. “Lila, maybe their tired.”

“It’s alright,” Steve said – I could tell that he was happy with the way that Lila called him ‘uncle.’ He knelt down beside Lila and said with a wide smile, “What do you want to do?”

Lila’s eyes lit up as she began gushing about the games she wanted to play. She and Cooper had just gotten a new wii and were adamant that everyone plays. Laura and Sharon went to go cook dinner while the rest of us took turns playing. I had never even heard of a wii game before so I felt a little dumb listening to children explain this new technology to me. I had fun, though. I got to play Tony at wii bowling and I, somehow, got strikes about 90% of the time. Convinced that I was cheating, Tony gave up on playing wii and settled with just watching. I quickly realized that it was just luck because every game after that, I lost. There was another wii game that involved shooting ducks – both Natasha and Steve showed everyone up for that game. Once dinner was ready, we had to pull up extra chairs so that everyone could fit. We ate homemade lasagna. Laura promised not to fill us up on food tonight otherwise we wouldn’t be hungry the next day.

“Can we watch a movie together after dinner?” Lila asked.

“If that’s okay with everyone else,” Laura said. We all agreed. “Okay. We have a little at-home movie theater in Clint’s den.”

Lila beamed. “Can we watch _the Lion King_?”

“We can watch whatever you want,” Steve said.

“Have you ever watched _the Lion King_ , Wanda?” Cooper asked.

“Honestly, I’ve never heard it,” I said.

“You’ve never heard of _the Lion King_?!” Lila gasped. “Have you at least seen _Cinderella?”_

I smiled and shook my head.

“Did you have no childhood?!” Lila shrieked. 

Laura’s eyes went wide. “Lila, that was _not_ very considerate of you to say.”

I smiled politely. “No, it’s okay. She didn’t know any better.” I looked back at Lila and Cooper, who both looked equally confused. “I, uh, I didn’t grow up in America so I’ve never had the chance to see a lot of American movies…” I felt content with my answer. While it didn't capture how complex my life was, I didn’t lie, nor did I do anything to really expose who I was.

“Oh!” Lila said. “Oh!” She repeated, this time more excited. “Mommy, mommy, do you think Wanda and I can watch all the Disney movies this weekend?”

“And with me!” Cooper piped in.

Laura hesitated. “You guys know you can only watch two hours of TV a day… but since it’s a holiday and we have guests, I suppose you can watch a couple of movies tonight and tomorrow.”

“Yay!” Lila squealed.

Lila ate dinner happily. We sat listening to her and Cooper argue playfully about which movie we were going to watch since they apparently had tons of different Disney movies that wanted me to see. Tonight, they settled with watching _the Lion King_ , as originally planned, and _Beauty and the Beast._ Laura brought out homemade ice cream to make banana splits for desert.

“I’m going to FaceTime Peter,” I said to Natasha after dinner. “I’ll meet you in the den.”

I insisted that Natasha didn’t need to stay with me but she put her foot down, something about how I wasn’t even allowed to walk ten feet outside without an agent by my side. Natasha led me up to the quaint guest bedroom that she and Steve were sharing tonight. “I’ll wait in the hall.”

“Okay,” I said. I closed the door behind Natasha – at least she was okay with that – and then clicked on Peter’s contact. Peter accepted the FaceTime call quickly. “Hey!”

“Wanda!” Peter exclaimed. “How’s your family?” I told Peter that Steve, Natasha and I were going to visit relatives.

“They’re good. We played wii for a couple of hours.  I got my ass soundly kicked,” I said.

“Not surprised about that,” Peter said. “How are you feeling?”

I smiled. “I’m doing better.”

Peter has been unbelievably kind. He offered to walk me home from school or to and from the library in case I was worried. Even though Michelle and Ned thought that was a bit much, I thought it was sweet for him to care as much as he did, and I honestly never once felt smothered by his actions. Peter never asked questions about Clint either; I never felt like he was forcing me to talk about a subject that I wasn’t ready to talk about. But when I did want to sit there and talk about how much I missed Clint, Peter would stop whatever he was doing and listen. He would ask questions and the moment he felt he was being intrusive he backed off. One day when Peter was coming over to work on bio homework, Aunt May, bless her heart, sent Peter with homemade meatloaf. I couldn’t believe how fortunate I was to meet such kind-hearted people.

Peter was also a very understanding person. As the length that we’ve dating quickly turned to a couple of months, I could tell that our relationship lacked the _physicality_ and passion that Peter, a teenage boy, wanted. We hugged. We kissed. We fooled around. Neither one of us were ready for sex – that was something unspoken. We were too young and this relationship was too green for anything that serious. But I could tell that Peter wanted to do _more_ than I was ready to do. Maybe it was selfish for me to resist or pull away just when things started to go too far. I felt guilty afterwards. I could, however, say with all truthfulness that I never felt pressured to do anything I didn’t want to do. Aunt May and Uncle Ben must have raised Peter correctly because I stopped or cringed or hesitated, Peter saw and Peter stopped.

Peter was too good for me. He was too smart, too kind, too motivated. I couldn’t offer what Peter wanted. I mean, of course we’re still in high school and, of course, the chances that this relationship becomes more than just a high school fling weren’t that likely. Still. The kind of baggage that I brought to any relationship isn’t something that anyone can just get over. It wasn’t so much that I sometimes ruined dates by having a breakdown. It was the constant threat that something could happen to Peter that I hated.

“You look tired,” Peter commented. He didn’t mean anything by it.

“It’s been a long day,” I said.

“Sleep a lot this weekend,” Peter said, firmly. “Relax, spend time with your family, eat lots of unhealthy food, and then sleep some more.”

I smiled. “You sound like my dad.”

“Like always, parents know best,” Peter smiled. “You know that science project that I was talking about?”

“The one that you’ve been begging for me to show Stark?” I asked. “Yeah?”

“Guess who’s project qualified for the science fair?” Peter exclaimed.

“You got in?!” I exclaimed. “I’m happy for you!”

“The science fair is December 16th – 18th so you should totally come,” Peter said, smiling.

“Of course I’m there!” I beamed. “That’s so exciting. One more step to MIT, right?”

“That’s the plan,” Peter grinned. “Alright, I don’t want to keep you from your family and Aunt May is calling me for dinner so I’m going to leave you now.”

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll text you tomorrow morning?”

“I’ll be waiting for it,” Peter said. “Love you, Wanda.”

“Love you too, Peter,” I said, smiling. The line disconnected. I plugged my phone in and went outside to find Natasha with a smirk on her face. “What?”

“Nothing,” Natasha said, absent-mindedly. “It’s just nice to see you acting like a normal teenager. Are you happy with Peter?”

I nodded. “Yeah. Pietro was the only _person_ that I was close with and even then, he was my brother… I feel like I belong here, Nat, and I’m really scared to think about what’s going to happen if Fury wants to relocate.”

Natasha’s easy-going smile faded. “Wanda, Steve and I are going to make sure that Hydra never finds you here. Manhattan is your home and if I had die making sure that it stays that way, so be it. I will not let Hydra take away everything that you’ve built here. I promise.” I smiled and gave Natasha a huge hug. “Let’s go watch that movie.”

It was a one story, one room shed but Clint had it decked out exactly how he would liked it: a mini bar in one car, a dartboard, pool table, mini fridge and a huge projection screen – very much like his apartment. Just being there made me miss Clint.

“I think about him a lot too,” Laura whispered as if she could read my mind.

Laura pulled out blankets from the closet and we settled around the couch together. Lila put on the movie, blasted the volume loudly and came to snuggle up against Steve, who she dragged to sit on the ground. We got through both movies, and I had to stay that I loved both. I kept myself from crying when Mufasa died or when Belle thought the beast was nearly killed. Lila put on the musical version for _Beauty and the Beast_ with subtitles so that we could sing along and, even though I had never seen the movie before, I found myself humming to the music. Tony jokingly began singing to the first song, _Belle_ , and by the end, everyone was yelling the words at the top of their voice – even Steve. It was one the best nights that I’ve had since my parents died. I felt like I was sitting in the living room of my real home with my real family. I was perfectly content to freeze time and relive this day over and over.

* * *

Chapter Sixteen – Part Two: Steve Rogers

When the credits for _Beauty and the Beast_ started playing, Lila was fast asleep, her head resting on my shoulder. She hardly knew me and I hardly knew her but I felt such a strong urge to make sure that nothing ever happened to someone as beautiful as she was. Seeing the way Lila and Cooper clung to their mother or talked fondly about Clint made me realize that much more how desperately I wanted kids. Even in his death, I was so envious of Clint’s life. I pushed down my feelings and my regrets and carried Lila in my arms – she was just so light – and brought her to the living room. 

I set Lila down lightly. She stirred awake and rubbed her eyes. “Did I miss the movie?”

“Yeah,” I said, smiling. “That’s okay. There’s always tomorrow. But for now, it’s time for you to get to bed.” I helped Lila and Cooper pull out the foldable bed while Sharon and Natasha assisted Laura with bringing down extra blankets and pillows for Wanda. I watched as Laura tucked Lila and Cooper in to bed. She pressed a kiss on their foreheads. I said my goodnights before following Sharon, Natasha and Laura upstairs.

“Good night!” Lila called after us.

I turned around and smiled back. “Good night, Lila. Good night, Cooper.”

Natasha and I said goodnight to Laura and Sharon, and we went to the guest bedroom. The guest bedroom smelled strongly of hair spray and flowers. An old-fashioned quilt was hanging on the wire bed frame of the unmade bed with floral sheets. Natasha’s makeup was strewn about the vanity. She hadn’t unpacked yet: her suitcase was sitting in the corner of the bedroom, wide open with clothes spilling out. Beside her suitcase was my duffel bag, zipped up and neatly organized. I changed into some sweatpants and a white t-shirt. I got Natasha and myself a glass of water and we crawled into bed.

“How are you feeling?” I asked her. 

Natasha drew a long breath in and exhaled. “I’m – I’m surviving. It’s been nice, this week with Laura. I only met her a couple of times but I was the only S.H.I.E.L.D. agent besides Fury who knew. She used to tell me about how scared she was that her children were going to grow up without a father. Clint always promised that he would come back. He never lied to his family before, Cap.”

“I’m sorry, Natasha,” I said. “I know how close Clint was to you.”

“I trusted him, Steve. Do you know how hard it is for me to trust someone?” I asked.

I smiled. “Believe me, I know that.”

Natasha chuckled. “You seem to like Lila a lot.”

“She’s a good kid,” I said. “A good kid who just lost her father.”

“Did you ever want that? With Peggy?” Natasha asked.

I shrugged. “I met Peggy when I was about to go a tour in Afghanistan. And when I was discharged - jesus christ, I could barely wake myself up in the morning. There was no way that I would have been able to take care of kids. And then Peggy was diagnosed. Things just never worked out for us. But I think now I know how much a family, a life like this was something that I really wanted. Too little too fucking late if you ask me. God, sometimes I wish I could go back in time and never go to Fury to join S.H.I.E.L.D. I wish I was stronger than I was. I wish I wasn't so goddamn weak after Peggy died that I could moved on without giving up my life the way that I did." There was a silence and then I asked: “What about you, Nat? Do you ever wish you could have what Clint had?” I knew I was getting into some dangerous territory with her. Natasha rolled over and looked up at the ceiling. “I’m sorry,” I said, quickly. “I shouldn’t have asked you something so–”

“Oh Steve,” Natasha sighed. “I guess if I asked, you can too.”

I shook my head. “No,” I insisted. “You don’t have to answer anything you aren’t comfortable with.”

Natasha breathed out in exasperation. “I’m one of Fury’s greatest agents – at least that what’s he tells everyone. I’m supposed to be comfortable with everything.” There was a pause before Natasha finally said, “I’m not cut out to be a mom. What kind of parent could I be when the only thing I could teach my child is how to kill someone?"

“You know that’s not true,” I said firmly.

Natasha laughed, but there was something haunted in her eyes. “I’m a weapon, Steve, and that’s all I am. People at S.H.I.E.L.D. think that my nickname, Black Widow, is just that, a nickname. Clint and Fury know it’s not. The KGB thrives on the efficiency of their agents. And to them, there’s only thing that an agent would put above a mission: children. So they sterilized me when I was sixteen years old. I suppose it was more of a graduation ceremony.” She spoke with no affect, like she didn’t care at all. Or she was too drained to care anymore. “I never cared what I did with my body or who I did it with as long as I got what I needed. It doesn’t matter, anymore. I’m not the kind of person that could make anyone happy. The only person who I thought understood that is now dead.” She paused, rolled over to look at me again and then asked, “Do you want to leave S.H.I.E.L.D., Steve? Retire? Live on a farm?" Natasha said. 

I gazed into her eyes. "I don't know, Nat. I really don't. The reason I joined S.H.I.E.L.D. in the first place was because my life had no direction after Peggy died. Knowing that I was protecting my country and citizens within gave me a new direction. I didn't realize how much lying and much of my conscience I would be giving away in the process. How do you feel about it?”

Natasha chuckled. "You know I have nothing outside of S.H.I.E.L.D., Steve."

"You have Laura. And me. And now Wanda," I said.

She rested her hand on my shoulder. "Can I ask you something, Steve?" Natasha asked. She spoke quietly, and I could tell that something was really bothering her.

"What is it?"

"Given everything that's happen - the waterpark, the raid, the fact that we keep hitting dead end after dead end after dead end, how likely are our chances of taking down an international mob like Hydra before they find and kill Wanda?" Natasha asked.

I drew in breath. I was surprised that Natasha was asking me something like that, especially since I knew she was so confident in herself to always successfully complete a mission. Now, she was lying before me as exhausted and worn down as I was when I got back from Afghanistan. I had never seen Natasha this way before, as frightened as she seemed now. Sitting her before me made the scars that marred our bodies from the lost fights seem ever more potent. The memory of the thousand times that we've gotten into a gun exchange and S.H.I.E.L.D. agents dropped like flies behind us came flooding back to me. There was a sort of numbness in my chest that followed as I reflected on the list of men and women who have lost their lives against Hydra. It was a representation of how impossible it was for us to prevail against such a _demonic_ force - there was no other word best to describe Hydra. I hadn't let myself think about that until Natasha pointed it, and the more I thought about, the more I came realize how many times S.H.I.E.L.D. has failed against Hydra. Fuck. What if we're just biding time until Hydra catches up to us? What if they know we're here? What if Wanda's a dead man walking? What if we all are? I didn't want to think about what Hydra would do to us. To Wanda. To Natasha. To Tony. To everyone that I've learned to love in the past few months. 

Natasha sniffed loudly, tears running down her eyes, and I wanted to kiss every one of those tears away. Sometimes I forgot that Natasha was human. She put on a mask every day to make sure that I didn't think that about her. I had never seen Natasha this way before, as frightened as she seemed now. There was something so alarming knowing that even the one person I knew never let anything bother felt hopeless. "I'm scared, Steve," she whispered. She pulled herself closer to me and tangled her hands into mine. Her hands were warm, a stark contrast to mine that always felt like ice. There was a sort of intimacy between us that had been blossoming ever since we were assigned to Wanda. Nat and I have been assigned to a million different assets who we had to transport from place to place. That was normally what we did, get out assets to a newer, safer location where other agents would watch them. Sometimes we weren't successful, but we never dwelled on the ones that we lost. At least not until Wanda. Natasha and I have never been required to stay with an asset for such an extended period of time, and I've grown an attachment to Wanda that I never expected to have. Wanda wasn't my responsibility because she was an important source of information for S.H.I.E.L.D. Wanda was my responsibility because I loved her like she was own child. I wouldn't let anything hurt her and every time she cried, whether or not it was because she had a nightmare about her brother or because she failed a test, I was in pain. I could tell that Natasha felt the same way.

"I already lost Clint. I can't lose Wanda. And I can't lose you, too," Natasha said. 

"Shhhh," I comforted. I brushed my finger against her forehead, moving a loose strand of hair out of her breathtaking eyes. "When we took this job, you and I both knew that there was a chance we could lose Wanda, but we haven't yet. They've gotten close but Hydra has never gotten to her, have they?" 

Natasha shook her head. She pulled herself even closer me. Her head was leaning against my shoulder, our fingers still interwoven together. I looked down at Natasha. The tears were no longer dripping down her face, but her face was still wet. I wiped her cheeks dry, and she gave me a watery smile. "Have you ever stopped to put yourself in Wanda's shoes? To think about how you would react in a situation like Wanda's?" Natasha said, "You lose your parents, you live on the streets in fear for two years, your brother dies in front of you, and then someone you're really starting to love gets killed, too? I know a million S.H.I.E.L.D. agents who's dealt with a lot less and handled it a lot worse." 

I thought about Bucky. "I think I would have given myself up to Hydra just to stop looking over my shoulder," I admitted.

"She's a fighter, that kid is," Natasha said, admirably. "I hope she gets past this. She deserves a happy life for a change." 

I nodded. "If we're able to take down Hydra, I know she'll get past this. She's stronger than you and me and we both know that." 

Natasha laughed. "Yeah, I guess that's true. I hope Tony gets something out these damn Hydra files," she said. "We could use some hope."

“Yeah,” I agreed. I leaned over and kissed Natasha's forehead. Her skin was soft to the touch. "Let's get some sleep, Nat. I'm sure Cooper and Lila are going to have a million different things for us to do tomorrow." Natasha stayed close to me the entire night, resting her head on the nape of my neck. She was warm and soft and I never wanted her to leave my arms. I wouldn’t say that this was romance blossoming. Natasha was just in pain and I was the person with whom she was closest. She needed someone there for her, and that’s why I’m here. Nothing else.

The next morning when I woke up, Natasha was already out of bed, the door to the bathroom closed and the water running. I yawned and glanced at the time. 7:35. Relatively late start for someone who normally gets up at 6:00 every day. I rolled out of my bed, threw the sheets back over the bed in a half-hearted attempt to make it, and then rummaged through my suitcase for my toiletries and clothes for today. The bathroom door swung open and Natasha walked outside in jeans and a black camisole. She smiled lightly before sitting on the edge of the bed and running her towel through her damp hair. I watched as she dried and straightened her fiery red hair. She normally wore it curled and short but recently she had been growing it out.

“Are you doing alright?” I asked.

Natasha put the straightener down. “Yeah. Did you sleep alright?”

I nodded. “Yeah.” There was a silence between us where Natasha turned back to doing her hair and I was sitting there watching her. I watched her a little while longer, taking in her tired-looking eyes and the way that she weakly held her arms up. “Nat, please tell me you got some sleep last night.”

“I got more sleep than I have for the past couple of weeks,” Natasha admitted. “I’m okay, Steve. You and I both know that I’m survived worse.” She walked over to me and brushed her fingers against my face. “Come on. Let’s not be Debbie Downers on Thanksgiving.”

Natasha took my hand in hers and together we walked downstairs. It smelled of brewing coffee. Cooper, Lila and Wanda were all still sleeping (who knows what time they feel asleep last night?) but the kitchen light was already on. Laura was whisking something in a metal bowl while Sharon was sitting at the kitchen table, holding a cup of coffee in her hand. Both women smiled when Natasha and I walked downstairs. Laura had a few recipe books laid out on the kitchen counters, and the raw turkey was resting on the cutting board.

“Morning,” Laura said. “Would you two like some coffee?”

“Sure,” Natasha said. She got two ceramic cups out of the cabinet and poured two cups of coffee for myself and for her. I mixed in my cream and sugar and went to join Sharon at the breakfast.

“Do you need any help with breakfast?” I offered. “Or dinner.”

Laura shook her head. “No, I’m fine. Besides, I think Lila is dead set on having you play with her all day. And, if you guys wouldn’t mind, there’s a couple of things that I need to get done but I _can’t_ do,” she said, gesturing toward her very pregnant belly.

“Anything,” I said, and I truly meant it. “Thank you for letting us spend Thanksgiving with your family.”

Laura smiled. “Clint would have wanted you here.”

Tony, Sam and Wanda came to join us twenty minutes later. After some argument Natasha and Wanda convinced Laura to let them help set the table for the breakfast. Once Cooper and Lila got up at around 8:30, we sat around the breakfast table eating cinnamon rolls, eggs, bacon and lots of fresh fruit. It was delicious. I sat at the head of the table, watching everyone I cared about smile and laugh and enjoy themselves. When breakfast was finished, Laura apologetically asked for some help with chores around the house. Clint had a lot of unfinished projects around the house from fixing the molding in the upstairs bathroom, painting the doors to the den and the house, fixing the John Deere lawn mower and then chopping firewood. Being the tech savvy person that he was, Tony offered to fix the lawn mower in the barn. Sam and I went to chop wood, while Natasha and Sharon tackled the molding upstairs and painted the door. Laura didn’t expect Wanda, Lila and Cooper but all three children insisted upon helping, so Cooper went to Tony, Lila wanted to help Sam and I and Wanda didn’t want to leave Laura cooking by herself.

It was a fairly nice day out: it was chilly and overcast but it wasn’t raining, and I considered that to be a win. Sam and I led a skipping, giggling Lila out to the front yard, where there was an understanding that Lila wasn’t going to be using the axes that Sam and I were using so instead she sat on the ground and watched as we walked. Knowing that we would be using the wood for the fire in the living room, she ran around grabbing sticks off the ground and dried leaves and throwing them into the same pile of wood. Laura came out eventually, bringing lemonade and a broom so that Lila could sweep the porch. When Sam and I were finished, we went to sit on the porch and watch Lila help Natasha paint the front door. They were laughing. Natasha looked happier than she had been in a very long time. I knew we weren’t a family and I knew that I shouldn’t be getting attached to anyone here, but the more I watched Lila squeal and run around the yard, the more I laughed with Sam or Tony or Laura, the more I realized how much I _didn’t_ want to leave these people.

When it was a quarter past four, I went upstairs to take a shower. I turned the shower onto hot. The bathroom filled with steam by the time that the water was ready. Inside, my tense muscles loosened at the touch of the warm water. I was quick. I washed my dirty-blonde hair and got out. I dried myself off with a towel and pulled on some black slacks and a blue dress shirt. Outside, Natasha was already dressed in a black dress. Looking at her ensemble, it was the first time that I really noticed the diamond ring that was placed delicately on her ring finger. The silver band and the crystal clear diamond jewels glistened in the overhead light. It was far from simple, with the way that diamonds seemed to pile on top of each other and the way that jewels twisted around the band, but it was elegant and it genuinely looked like it belonged to her. 

Natasha took my hand. When we went downstairs, the smell of roasting turkey and cranberries wafted in the air. The fire place was roaring, candles were flickering and the kitchen was a sight to behold. Laura set the table with expensive looking glass plates and glitter-covered wine glasses. Steaming buns were placed in large bowls beside olive oil and butter. Food covered every surface: piles of mashed potatoes beside a bowl of gravy; loads of grilled brussel sprouts; green bean casserole with a layer of melted, bubbly cheese on top; a bowl of boozy-smelling cranberries; another dish of cranberries mixed with what looked like whipped cream; a  huge dish of stuffing; and one of the most beautifully prepared turkeys that I've ever seen. On one of the tables in the kitchen counters were loads of different wines and then some sparkling cider for the children.

"Wow," I said, almost dumb-founded. "This is unbelievable."

"Thank you," Laura said. "Do you prefer red or white wine?"

"Red is fine," I said. I didn't really have a preference since I hardly drank.

Laura picked up two wine glasses from the kitchen table and poured Nat and I some wine. We were on a second glass by the time that Tony, Sam and Sharon came down. Lila, Cooper and Wanda wandered down a little bit later. We sat around the kitchen table, nibbling on bread, laughing at old stories and listening to Cooper tell us about the robot he wanted to build. Cooper's face fell the minute he remembered that he was going to build it with Clint, but Tony, though I can genuinely say I never expected this, offered to come over every now and then and build it with him. When Laura said dinner was ready, we scrambled to get our plates and dished out bucket loads of food. We settled into our respective seats: Laura and I at the heads of the tables, Lila and Cooper by Laura, and Natasha and Wanda on my other side; Tony, Sharon and Sam filled up the other spots.

"Everything looks delicious, Laura. Thank you," I said.

She smiled. "Dig in everyone! Don't let it get cold!"

Everyone reached for their forks just as Wanda cleared her throat. "C-can I say something?" Wanda said, tentatively. Her brown hair was tucked behind her ear and she had a nervous expression on her face.

Laura stopped. "Of course."

"I'll be quick," Wanda promised. "I know you guys are hungry. I, uh, I used to have this family member." She made eyes with Natasha and I before going on. "He was... I used to have a brother, Pietro. It doesn't really matter what happened to him. Where we lived, we didn't celebrate Thanksgiving. Pietro thought it was a glutinous holiday that fattened Americans up, but we both appreciated the idea of celebrating family and learning to not take everything for granted. A lot of people don't realize how lucky they are to have a family or friends or peace of mind or simplicity...or even life. When-when Pietro died, I didn't think I could have any of those things again. I realized that I was wrong. So thank you to Laura and Cooper and Lila for treating a stranger like they're family. To Tony for never failing to keep me awake in class and helping me through all of my god-awful social interactions. And to Sam, Steve and Natasha for putting their life on the line everyday, and never expecting anything in return for it because I don't think there is anything that could properly show how thankful I am what they've done for me. And to Clint, who taught me a powerful lesson that family can be anyone. Not just blood relatives."

There was silence as Wanda's words hung in her air. Then, Sam said, "To Clint." He was holding up his wine glass.

"To Clint" or "to dad", we echoed. We clicked our wine glasses together in homage to our friend. As I took a sip of wine, I felt a hand pressing against my leg. Natasha glanced in my direction, her lips subtly curved upwards into a smile. One hand holding my wine glass, I used my free hand and intertwined my fingers with Natasha's.

"I'm done," Wanda said. "Thanks for letting me talk. Let's eat!"

We quickly dug in. The food tasted as good as it looked. The gravy burst of flavor but wasn't overpowering the mash potatoes. The turkey wasn't dry. The cranberries, though very strong, were superb, and the stuffing tasted exactly like my mom's recipes. After the first few bites, everyone quickly expressed their contentedness, which made Laura beam. We made our way through bottles of wine and globs of mashed potatoes and slices of turkey. Everyone had seconds and thirds. I've been partners with Natasha for practically every year that I was a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, and I can say that we've never once had the opportunity to sit down and have a huge meal with the people that we loved like we did tonight. For the last big family holiday, Christmas, Natasha and I were stationed in Yemen watching a Hydra arm’s dealer. We were cooped up in a dingy motel room, drinking hard liquor and eating supermarket food. Before I enlisted, family dinners were a must. My mother was strict about getting home on time. After my parents died and once Buck and I get sent to the army, this sort of get together wasn’t much of a priority. Even after I returned, god, the only thing I could think of was Bucky's death and Peggy’s diagnosis.

Natasha leaned over and whispered in my ear, “Are you okay?”

I smiled. “Yeah. I am.” And I meant it. The fact that after this weekend reality would catch back up to me and I would have to go back to the _New York Times_ and worry about Hydra made me not want to leave this farm. I savored every moment that we had left during dinner, the dessert (which was homemade pumpkin pie, banana cream pie and chocolate mousse cake), the following movies and the loads of board games. I was miserable at monopoly but it didn’t matter. Everything here was carefree.

The rest of the weekend came and passed and when it was Sunday afternoon and time to go back home, no one wanted to leave. That day was forlorn. Cooper and Lila were devastated when we had to go, and the rest of us were equally as devastated. As Lila threw her arms around my shoulders, she begged for me to come back. Jesus, I wanted to say yes but I didn’t want to lie to her. I had no idea if my job would permit another visit. I might die on the ride home, I might die tomorrow, I might die next week for all I know. I don’t know if I’ll get reassigned. But god, I didn’t want to leave this life. This was a life that I desperately wanted.

Being back at the apartment in Manhattan was gloomy. Natasha, who had been staying at the Bartons’ for about a week and half, didn’t seem to adjust well to being back to a home that didn’t have bubbly, squealing kids running around. But life kept moving, and so did we. Natasha and I both went back to work (Mr. Pierce was relentlessly bugging me for more and more cartoons now that they were becoming some of the more popular drawings in the _Times_ ), Sharon was settling in just fine to her life, and Wanda was getting back to school like normal. Every morning when I checked the emails to see what Fury would tell me, I got the same copied and pasted message about how S.H.I.E.L.D. hasn’t cracked any of Hydra’s encryptions. Tony was quickly having more success that S.H.I.E.L.D. – or at least Tony was _telling me_ his progress. Tony tried to explain the type of protection that Hydra had on their files but I didn’t even bother listening. All I knew was that by the end of the week, Tony should be able to have the Hydra files opened. The question of how long it would be to sift through the files to find something that was useful was a different question.

Tony was pretty invested in getting the files done to bother calling me with updates so I resorted to J.A.R.V.I.S. spying on him. In turns out that cracking the files had become more than just a part of Tony’s job to him, but a game that Tony was determined to win. After many sleepless nights, on an early Sunday morning the week after Thanksgiving, Tony called me. I was in the kitchen, the only one awake out of Wanda, Natasha and me, and I was milking a cup of coffee. “Cap, get the team to my place. I’ve got some information that you might want to hear.”

Excitedly, I rounded the team up. Sam would meet us there while the rest of us would drive down together. Wanda and Natasha were practically impossible to get awake but after much persistence and shaking awake, they both groggily got up and stretched. After Tony yelled a few orders and called out that he cracked the files open, both kicked their sheets off and I left for them to get dressed. Sharon was apparently up and cleaning out her sidearms. She came downstairs with absolutely no idea why she was coming down to our apartment so early. I knew that I was going to have to be the person to break it to Sharon that we were keeping this behind her back – I was lead on this assignment and I was the person that told Tony to make copies of the files. If Sharon told Fury, then I had to be the one to accept the consequences, not my teammates. Natasha and Wanda were still getting ready by the time that Sharon came down here, dressed and wide awake. I explained what was going on and by the end, she had a very neutral expression, one that I couldn’t quite get a read on.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” I said.

Sharon pursed her lips. “I’m not mad, Steve. I tend to jump from partner to partner to assignment to assignment. This isn’t the first time this has happened and I’m sure it won’t be the last. The important thing is we got something.”

“You aren’t going to tell Fury, are you?” I asked.

Sharon laughed. “Do you really care?”

I shrugged. “Fair point.”

Wanda and Natasha came out of their bedrooms, fully dressed with a large smile on their face. We piled into the blue truck, put the car into the drive and raced out of the parking garage to Tony’s home. Beautiful as ever, the Stark Tower seemed exceptionally attractive today – perhaps because everything seemed happier and in the sunlight now. I had no idea what Tony deemed important but whatever it was had to be something good otherwise Tony wouldn’t call us all over to his place. Sam was already there when we arrived, pacing back and forth impatiently. “Come upstairs!” Tony yelled from above the glass staircase. Though I could tell judging by the puffy and deep purple bags under his eyes that he hasn’t had a good night of sleep in a while, he still looked as put together as ever: ironed shirt, cleanly shaven. We followed him to his personal technology corner on his house. All around, the screen had confusing looking lists of numbers and files and paystubs.

“What is this, Tony?” I asked.

He laughed, a loud, echo-ey laugh. “They’re paystubs. These dumbasses – very organized dumbasses, I’ll give them that – kept track of payments. I’ll admit,” Tony said, quickly, “Most of this is just noise. Creeps here and there going down to the underground casino. _But_ all the pay stubs are going to various bank accounts throughout America. I could only put a name to two but they were all under bogus identities. Ghosting.”

“Ghosting?” Wanda repeated.

“Taking a dead person’s identity and stealing their social security number to create accounts. Hydra is notorious for doing it,” Natasha filled in.

“Still, we can track part of Hydra’s funding. I’m sure they have a million different sources of income but this is still something,” Tony said quickly. “And on top of that, there are a _couple_ of paystubs that Hydra _sends_ , not receives. I got three names: Batroc, who is not all that relevant to us given the cyanide tooth thing he has going on; Ultron, the name of the guy that Scott Lang brought up, and the last one – this one is a real weird name – the Winter Soldier.”

“Wanda?” I asked.

She shook her head. “Never heard of any of them.”

“I have…” Natasha whispered. Her lips were slightly parted, and her skin looked pale. There was something very startling about her expression. “The Winter Soldier. Credited with over two dozen assassinations in the last five years.” She looked over at me. “Do you remember the story I told you about the nuclear physicist?”

I nodded. “That was him?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, what story?” Sam asked.

“I was escorting an asset out of Iran. Someone shot out my tires near Odessa. We lost control. Went straight over a cliff. I pulled us out… but the Winter Soldier was there. I was covering my engineer so he shot him straight through me. Soviet slug. No riflings. He’s fast. And strong. He had a metal arm,” Natasha said.

Tony snorted. “A metal arm?”

“He’s one of Hydra’s best. The Red Skull brings him in on top priority cases… like Wanda. If he’s here, that means more guns. And more headaches. Probably for us,” Natasha said, bitterly.

“So he’s for me?” Wanda said.

“Not necessarily,” Natasha said. “The Winter Soldier’s a dead end. The only way you can find him is if you’re one of his targets. Believe me, I’ve wasted months going after him. When did the payments go out to the Winter Soldier?”

“Most recent was four months ago,” Tony said.

“That settles it. If that payment for the Winter Soldier was here for your assassination, you'd be dead by now,” Natasha said. I could tell she was trying to reassure Wanda of her safety but I don’t think that was the right way to go about the situation.

Sighing, I said, “Get this to Fury. Tell him I was the one that told you to do this.”


	17. Wanda Maximoff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wanda goes to Florida with her friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys like this chapter!

Chapter Seventeen: Wanda Maximoff

When Fury found out what Tony and Steve had done behind his back on Monday, he took it surprisingly well. While upset that the one of his most trusted  and probably most _honest_ agent Fury had went behind his back by copying top secret files, Fury was more concerned about the fact that Tony was able to crack the Hydra files significantly faster than Fury’s own agents were capable of doing. I was surprised to hear that neither Steve nor Tony, the masterminds behind this plan, would be receiving disciplinary actions about this, if you don’t count a long and very foul-languaged video chat disciplinary action, which I didn’t; I more of expected the death penalty from Fury. Besides that reprimand, Fury let Steve and the others know that he would be assigning S.H.I.E.L.D. agents to more thoroughly go through all the files. Even Fury admitted that at a glance the files looked like it would help expose Hydra by “following the money” and also help to pile up more charges. There was, however, a lack of anything that could lead to _more_ locations and _more_ bases. Furthermore, the paystubs to the Winter Soldier and Ultron were just that – paystubs. Nothing helped to tell us why Hydra was paying these two individuals and whether or not the Winter Soldier was after me.

Natasha was even more hyper-vigilant once the name _Winter Soldier_ started floating around the conversation. Other than the short description about what happened when she first encountered the Winter Soldier, she didn’t go into much detail about it. I could tell by the way that she was checking the window every now and then and making sure that the apartment was well stocked with guns (I was surprised Peter, who came over all the time, hadn’t found one) that whoever this Hydra assassin was made Natasha _very_ nervous. Steve was always on edge so he didn’t seem any more affected than Sharon and Sam. I tried not to let myself think about who the Winter Soldier or Ultron was. Stressing over whoever these Hydra agents were wasn’t going to help me, and I know for sure that acting as paranoid as Natasha wouldn’t help, either. But still, Natasha triple checked that I had my sidearm with me everywhere I went, and I made sure of that, too.

As expected, my friends were a very good source of distraction for me. December set in, and my schedule quickly filled up. Between cramming for finals that were rapidly approaching, the projects that teachers were piling on, and the social events that Peter, Michelle and Ned were dragging me to, I was surprised that I still had enough energy and time to eat. With the extra loads of school work that teachers thought necessary to assign, I spent long hours with Michelle, Peter and Ned at cafés to work on projects and cram for tests coming up on weekdays. I drank lots of warm coffee and hot chocolate. A hot beverage was exactly what I needed on chilly New York days.

On the first weekend of December, it was Michelle’s seventeenth birthday. We went out to a nice dinner and hung out in Central Park. On the second weekend, Ned had a robotics tournament. It was a long drive and, with the pouring rain that turned to hail, we almost didn’t make it. The following week – the last week before winter break – we had finals and Peter’s science fair. After hours of intense studying, pouring over notes and filling out endless study guides, I felt ready for all of tests. Monday was our last review day, and Tuesday and Wednesday we were taking finals. Since the semester would be over then, we would have Thursday and Friday off for winter break. Wednesday was also the first day of Peter’s science fair. I practically knew every intimate detail about the science fair, ranging from the date of birth of the panel of judges to the types of cars that the kids that would be stationed around Peter drove. It was the only thing  he could talk about for practically all of December. The science fair was ran by a private organization called _Kids Know_ and it gives out scholarships and grants for students, which is why it was such a big deal for Peter. Tony was personally invited by the people running it to be the guest judge this year, so Natasha and I made plans to come with Wednesday night; Sam would just so happen to stop by. Afterwards, Tony was going to take the three of us out to dinner  (Steve and Sharon both had their day jobs otherwise they also would have come).

When Wednesday rolled around, the first thing Peter said to me when we saw each other was about the science fair. “Do you still have the address I gave you? I can send it to you again if you need me to.”

“Peter,” I said, laughing. “Relax. I have the address. Tony, my mom and I will be there to see you.”

Peter’s grin got even wider. When I told Peter that Tony was going to be coming, even though it wasn’t just to go see Peter, I thought he was going to cry. “You guys aren’t planning on driving, are you? Parking is going to be a bitch.”

“Tony has reserved parking. He’s practically a celebrity amongst science nerds,” I said.

“Hey!” Peter exclaimed. “I happen to be one of those science nerds!”

I smiled. “I know.” I leaned forward, kissed Peter on the cheek and messed with his normally perfectly gelled hair. “That’s why I said it.”

Peter laughed. “Hey, so, uh, first week back after winter break. There’s a dance. The Holiday Waltz.”

I smiled. “Yeah, what about it?”

“So, are we gonna go together?” Peter asked. He was blushing.

“It’s a date,” I said, smiling, and Peter shared the same gesture.

“I thought the thing nowadays were boys bringing out big posters and giving your flowers?” Tony said over comms. I chose to ignore that comment — it wasn’t like I knew any better.

“I’ve got to get to class. I’ll see you at lunch, right?” I said.

Peter nodded. “Yeah. Good luck on your tests.”

We said our goodbyes and went in opposite directions to our first class. The tests today were long and exhausting and my legs hurt from sitting all day but I got through them, thankfully with no problem given all the studying I did. At the end of the day, I happily backed up my bag and went to find Peter. He was leaning against my locker, talking to Michelle and Ned. I went to Peter’s side and his arm draped around my side – it was normal for us to be this close with each other, and I felt comfortable with it. We went out for ice cream at one of the local creameries just ten minutes away by walk from Manhattan Academy. Peter, however, had to leave pretty soon after we got out of school because he had to set up for science fair, and Ned was supposed to help him. Though Michelle offered to hang out longer, we both decided to go home since we knew that we would see each other at the science expo tonight. Peter walked me home first, kissed me goodbye and then hurried down the stairs. I used to be uncomfortable being at all physical with Peter knowing that Tony or Nat or Steve were watching us but I gave up on caring about that a while ago.

The science fair was supposed to start at 6:30 and, according to J.A.R.V.I.S., traffic was exceptionally heavy, so we left at 5:45. Looking at the speeding cars and angry drivers, and listening to the constant stream of horns blasting, Natasha, Tony and I were all glad that J.A.R.V.I.S. was driving and not one of us. We were also very thankful to know that Tony had reserved parking directly in the front of the science expo because for a stretch of what felt like two miles, there wasn’t a signal spot available. There was someone waiting in front of Tony's spot to move the reserved sign so that we could parallel park comfortably into a spot.  We hurriedly pulled into the science fair, which was in a stuffy but very large and very high-ceiling-ed building. Plastic foldable tables with large cardboard posters and exciting looking machines or projects in front extended throughout the entire building. Each table was labeled with different letter (associated with the hallway or room in which an individual was placed) and a number.

This was a competition for a huge scholarship and Tony was the guest of honor for the panel of esteemed judges (this explains why Tony refused to look over Peter’s project when I asked him). Tony was supposed to check in upstairs somewhere and then visit every single stand with another judge. So, Tony said his goodbyes while Natasha and I went to go find Peter’s room. He was stationed at D4 and, thankfully, there were maps everywhere on in the main foyer. Down a long hallway and into another massive room. As we followed those directions, I was surprised to see how crowded it was at a science fair. People ran past me, sometimes bumping me over and not always stopping to apologize. I hoped that wherever Peter was stationed was less crowded but when Natasha and I got there, I was disappointed. It was as crowded, if not worse than the main foyer. Peter was in the first row so I was glad I didn’t need to make my way through the maze of projects and people.

“Wanda!” Peter exclaimed when he saw me. He was dressed in slacks and a dress shirt, perhaps the most formal that I’ve ever seen him in. He was standing in front of a red-colored poster board with big words that was could have been a foreign language to me. It was something about the Mitochondria and the nucleus and other fancy words that I choose to ignore. Beside him, Aunt May was reading over his poster, an eyebrow raised. He went to hug me before turning to Natasha. “Hello, Ms. Romanoff,” he said, politely shaking her hand.

Natasha smiled. “How many times do I need to tell you? Call me Natasha.”

Aunt May went over to Natasha.  “May Parker. I’m Peter’s aunt,” Aunt May said, shaking Natasha’s hand fervently.

“Natasha Romanoff,” Nat said. “Pleasure to finally meet you. My husband, Steve, wants me to say hello for him. He’s sorry that he couldn’t make it. He got caught up at work.”

“Oh yes! Peter has showed me some of his artwork in the newspaper. Unbelievable,” Aunt May said. “He’s _incredibly_ talented.”

“I’ll tell him you said that,” Natasha said. “And I know Peter is just as talented. This is unbelievable.” Natasha gestured toward the poster. “How does Peter know all of this at such a young age?”

“I have no idea. I barely understand anything on this poster,” Aunt May said, to which Natasha laughed, and the two women went to go talk amongst themselves.

“I’m glad you came,” Peter said when we were alone.

“Thanks for inviting me,” I said, smiling. I looked at his poster. “This looks incredible.”

Peter smiled. “Thanks. Other than the time I spent with you and doing some projects on the side, this is what all of my free time has been dedicated toward. I really hope I win. It’s a $10,000 scholarship, Wanda. God, do you have any idea what that’ll mean if I win?! And even if I don’t, second place prize is $7,500. And third place is $5,000!”

“I’m sure you’ll win,” I said. “Come on. Tell me about your science project.”

Peter animatedly started going through his project and, as expected, I didn’t retain much of anything he said. The only part of his presentation that I did understand was the explanation of the parts of a cell, like what the mitochondria or the nucleus is, but that was because I poured over my AP Biology textbook so that stuff wasn’t difficult for me. Everything else was well above my level of intelligence. After Peter explained his project to me, Michelle and Ned showed up and I had to listen to Peter gave his presentation again. I didn’t mind, though. Getting to see how happy and passionate Peter was about what he was saying made me equally happy. Natasha and Aunt May, who had been talking together about who knows what, came to join us after a little bit.

“Mr. Wilson?” Peter said, stopping mid-explanation of his testing procedure. Behind us, Sam strode toward us with a smile on his face. “It’s great to see you. Do you know someone here?”  Peter said, shaking Sam’s hand.

Michelle rolled her eyes, and Sam laughed. He gestured toward Peter’s presentation. “I’m here to support my student. Dr. Banner was raving about your project in the teacher’s lounge. I wanted to see your masterpiece for myself.”

“Wow,” Peter stammered. “Thank you. Aunt May, I want you to meet someone.” Nat and Aunt May came to our sides. “Aunt May, this is Mr. Wilson. He’s our school psychologist.”

“Nice to meet you,” Aunt May said, taking Sam’s hand.

“Always a pleasure to meet my student’s parents. You’re raising a good kid. Lot of teachers like him,” Sam said, to which Aunt May beamed. Then, Sam turned to look at Natasha. “Natasha, always great seeing you. How have you and your family been holding up?”

Natasha smiled. “Good, thank you. And thank you for taking care of Wanda.”

“It’s not just my job but my responsibility to take care of my students,” Sam said. There was a very serious edge to his voice.

After a while, the adults drifted to some of the other tables to listen and observe, though Natasha always made sure to stay within eyesight. Michelle, Ned and I stayed to talk with Peter a little bit longer until we also had to step aside so that Peter could present his project in front of the judges. I had to admit I was impressed. While I could tell he was nervous based on how he was wringing his hands together, he still delivered his prepared speech flawlessly and fielded the questions from the judges with ease. He spoke with poise and confidence. He made the judges laugh – I could tell when they walked away that they were leaving very impressed.

“You killed it with them!” Ned exclaimed, clapping Peter on the back.

“Really?” Peter said, taking a shaky breath. “Jeez, that was terrifying.”

“Are you kidding?” Michelle said. “They absolutely loved you. Right, Wanda?”

I smiled and nodded. “Rig–…”

I stopped mid-sentence. The blood in my veins went ice cold and I thought my insides were going to melt to the floor. The world around me felt like it was spinning. It was like I was back at the waterpark. Or the streets of Sokovia. It was like all the fear that Sam and Tony and Natasha and Steve had managed to help me get past came flooding back in a woozy haze. Because he was here, standing in front of me. The man who I met at a Hydra dinner, who looked me up and down; the man who finds killing more involuntary than eating. The man whose face haunted me in my dreams.

Rumlow.

He was two rows down. Crowds of people and massive posters were in his way, obstructing a clear path to me. At least, there wasn’t a clear path to grab hold of me but there was a clear path to shoot me down with a gun and to shoot  down everyone that I loved. Even though there were people that were preventing Rumlow from even seeing me, I felt so close to him it seemed like we were practically touching. It was like I could smell the alcohol still lingering on his breath and feel his rough, stubbly skin on my cheeks and hands. I hadn’t seen him since the day that Pietro was killed, but he still looked the same: large and scowling and terrifying.   

“Wanda?” Michelle said. She waved her hand in front of my face. “Earth to Wanda? How can you zone out mid sentence like that?”

“What are you looking at?” Peter said. He was looking around; he knew something had to be wrong.

“I – I,” I stammered. I couldn’t finish, I couldn’t breathe and I couldn’t think. God, what was that fucking code phrase that we came up with before? “It’s, I, uh – it’s really hot.”

“What?” Michelle said.

“It’s just – I have to…” I looked around. I had to find Natasha and Sam. “It’s – it’s really hot…” I repeated. I felt so helpless and dumb just standing there, unable to think or move or protect myself. And then I saw them: Natasha and Sam were ducking and swerving around to get to me. I pulled Peter close and – I didn’t care who was around us – kissed him. It wasn’t deep and passionate. It was fervent, desperate and short-lived. I hugged Michelle and Ned before scrambling toward Natasha and Sam. “It’s – it’s…” I stammered. Tears swelled in my eyes.

“Easy now,” Sam coaxed. He had one arm securely around me. Now all Rumlow could see was Sam’s back.  “What is it, Wanda?”

“It’s – it’s Rumlow,” I managed.

I barely glanced in Rumlow’s direction, so terrified that if I even turned slightly to look at him that Rumlow would see me. He had moved around a little bit. We could see his profile but as far as I knew, Rumlow wasn’t looking in our direction. Natasha’s eyes went wide. She wrapped a firm hand on my arm and Sam shielded Rumlow’s view of me. Natasha steadily led us to the hallway and once there, once Rumlow was out of sight, we broke into as fast of a run as we could muster through a crowded hallway. As we ducked and side-stepped, Natasha turned her comms on and said, “Code Red. Rumlow is at the science fair.” His name was enough to send a violent shudder down my back. No. No, I can’t be scared. I have to focus. I have to get myself out alive. Focus. The gun in my holster felt like it was burning against my back.

“Get her to the base!” Steve commanded. His voice came out, high and clear, over the crowd. It was filled with panic. “Sharon and I will meet you there.”

It was a mad rush to get to the car. We were just a step above pushing people over to get to the front; we were almost to the doorway but I felt like everyone was watching us. Outside, it was cool, which helped my perspired and hot face and neck. Tony arrived at his car at the same time that Natasha, Sam and I got there. Without saying anything, Tony tore open the driver’s seat door and Sam went to sit up front, while Natasha fiercely yanked the backseat door open and pushed me inside. She took the seat beside me and the minute that the doors were closed, Tony slammed on the gas and merged into traffic, cutting off a driver behind us. “Get your seatbelt on! And get your sidearm out!” Natasha commanded as she took out her own gun. I followed her instructions. “Put this on!” Natasha pulled out a baseball cap. “Cover your face. Keep your head down. And here.” She handed me a bulletproof vest. I followed her instructions to the dot, keeping my head down so low that I was practically doubled over.

“How far away are you four?” Steve asked.

“Ten minutes,” Tony said. J.A.R.V.I.S. hit a rough turn and I bumped into the window. “Sorry.”

We were on edge the entire drive to the base. Every time we stopped at a red light, I felt like every car around us was full of Hydra agents. Natasha shared that same sentiment. She had one arm pressed firmly against my back, making sure that my head and body was well hidden from sight. We made it to the secret base after what felt like hours of driving. J.A.R.V.I.S. threw the car into park in the underground garage where Steve and Sharon, dressed in their bulletproof vests and holding out automatic guns. “Get her inside and suit up. Fury’s already on his way,” Steve said. Steve and Sharon watched the entrances as Natasha, Tony and Sam rushed me into the underground safe house.

The last time that I was at this underground base was to train with Natasha and Steve. Back in August, I just thought of it as an extra precaution, a backup plan in case something was going to happen. Now, looking around at the guns and shields that were lining the walls, I suddenly realized that this place was much more than just a training place for me. Everything surrounding me right now was the last line of protection for me. Natasha pointed toward one of the lounge chairs in the corner of the underground base, and I took my seat obediently. Natasha and Sam disappeared into separate bathrooms, and when they emerged, Natasha was dressed in a leather catsuit with glowing cuffs, her electric batons and guns securely fastened in her holster. Sam was wearing a tight-fitting bulletproof vest, two semi-automatic weapons strapped around his chest. Steve and Sharon were bustling around the base, pulling out weapons and setting up lamps. Tony came to sit by my side, pushing a cart with three computers on it. He started setting up a station for him next to me.

“What are you doing?” I asked Tony.

“It’s my and J.A.R.V.I.S.’s job to make sure that no one gets into the base,” Tony explained. He clapped me on the back. “Don’t worry, Wanda. You’re gonna be safe.”

“What’s with all the lamps Steve’s setting up?” I asked.

“J.A.R.V.I.S. will automatically turn these lamps  on in case Hydra tries to shut down the generator. ” Tony explained.

There were no windows and the only exits were the one that Natasha and Steve showed me when we first moved here and the one that comes from the parking garage. The chair in which I was sitting was situated in such a way that my back wasn’t facing any of the entrances. Sharon was leaning against the wall and eyeing the entrance to the parking garage suspiciously. Sam was handling the other entrance, and Natasha and Steve were pacing back and forth, nervously, both brandishing their weapons.

“How the hell did they find her?” Steve barely managed through clenched teeth. He sounded terrified.

“I don’t know,” Natasha said, shaking her head in disbelief.

“It doesn’t make sense,” Steve said. “We’ve been careful. Tony and J.A.R.V.I.S. haven’t let a single picture of Wanda get out. We’ve covered our tracks. Are you sure it was Rumlow?”

Wanda nodded. “That’s not a face that I would forget anytime soon.”

“Captain Rogers, I’ve already checked the surveillance feed at the science fair. According to my facial recognition, it was indeed Brock Rumlow, code name Crossbones,” J.A.R.V.I.S. filled in.

“Jesus,” Steve said.  “Do you think he saw Wanda?”

“I don’t think he did,” Natasha said. “If he did, this would be a very different situation.”

“Oh god,” I said out loud, suddenly remembering something. “Oh no, oh no, oh no.”

“What is it?” Steve asked, frantic.

“What if Rumlow saw me with Peter, Michelle and Ned? Hydra could be going after them right now. I have to warn them,” I said, reaching for my phone.

“It’s okay,” Steve said, quickly. “I’ve already talked to Fury. He has S.H.I.E.L.D. agents posted outside their houses and by the science fair. Hydra won’t be able to get to them.”

For what lasted a very brief moment, I think everyone felt a little relieved, and then Sam asked, “What do we do now, Cap?”

I looked over at Steve, who seemed to be trying very hard to avoid eye contact. Though I always knew that Steve was a natural leader, this was the first time that I felt like he didn’t have some brilliant plan. Steve cleared his throat. “Fury is on his way. He’s going tell us what the next move is. Our priority right now is to keep you alive until Fury shows up. No one gets in. Wanda, you have your sidearm, right?” I nodded, and set it on the table. “Take the safety off and keep it in your hand. And,” –Steve set another sidearm in front of me–, “keep this one for good measure.”

Natasha set another firearm in front. “Just in case the other one jams.” She paused and then set another gun in front of us. “Tony, I know you hate guns–.”

“It’s okay,” he said. He reached for the sidearm, took the safety off and set the gun beside him.

Long silence followed. We didn’t dare speak more than a whisper in fear that Hydra could be waiting for us outside; we didn’t even breathe loudly in fear that Hydra might hear us. Sam and Natasha brought out some energy bars and water but I couldn’t eat anything. My stomach was twisted up in so many knots that it would have been impossible to keep anything down my stomach. Time passed slowly. By 10:30, Fury still hadn’t showed up. Natasha and Steve insisted that I go take a shower in the spare bathroom to help myself relax. I hated the idea of being stuck in a room, defenseless, but I didn’t want to argue. I got into the bathroom, kept the door slightly ajar and left my gun where I could clearly see it. No matter how warm I set the water or how many deep breaths I took, I could never relax for even a second. How could I? Rumlow was in Manhattan. God, Pietro gave up his life to make sure that I get free safely and for what? For me to live a few painful months and then die, anyway?

Frustrated and thoroughly terrified, I flipped the shower off, dried myself off and got dressed into warm clothes. Steve was standing outside, not in a creepy and off-putting way, but in a very guarded and rigid way, as though he was afraid that a Hydra agent would be waiting for me inside. He handed me a blanket and a warm pair of wool socks, since the underground base was thoroughly freezing and without heat. Steve boiled up some soup and a pot of water on the electric crockpot. He took me into the only bedroom here and helped me inside. At first, I thought he was silly when he started tucking me in, but there was something comforting about it nonetheless.

“You don’t need to do this,” I said. “I can do it.”

“Wanda,” he said. Steve pressed his hand against my fingers. He frowned. “Jesus, Wanda, your fingers feel like ice.”

“It’s cold in here,” I shrugged.

Steve wrapped my fingers around the bowl of soup gently. “This should help,” he said. And it did. The bowl was warm to the touch, and it was nice against my fingers. Even though food was the last thing on my mind, the soup smelled like the first meal Steve ever made for me in Manhattan. “You should eat something – or at least try to sleep. I don’t know when Fury will be here.”

“Steve,” I said. “I can’t sleep knowing Rumlow is out there.”

Steve sighed. He set the bowl and cup onto the nightstand. He rubbed his temples and let out an exasperated breath. “God, Wanda,” he managed. He gazed at the ground, his brow furrowed. “I’m sorry… When Nat and I took you in, I swore that I would protect you. I swore that I wouldn’t let Rumlow find you again. And I failed.”

“It’s okay,” I said. “Pietro and I were involved with Hydra long enough to know that Hydra finds everyone.”

“I’m not going to let them hurt you,” Steve said, firmly.

I looked up at Steve. He looked like he was in all sorts of pain and guilt. Looking into his eyes, a part of me still felt horrible to think that he might be wasting his time trying to protect me; I didn’t think that I could ever get away from Hydra in such a way that didn’t end with my death. But that was the last thing that I wanted Steve to think about. There was absolutely no way that I could put a proper sentence together that was powerful enough to convey how utterly thankful and in debt I was towards Steve, Natasha, Sam, Tony and now Sharon. Rarely had I stopped to think about how _they_ were feeling and now, looking at how terrified I could see Steve was, I felt absolutely guilty for not doing such a thing. “Thank you, Steve,” I whispered, as though that would be enough. I wrapped my arms around Steve’s broad shoulders and pulled him close. There was something so comforting about the way that Steve rested his head onto my small shoulders. His body completely shielded mine and I felt as safe as I could given the circumstances.

There was a knock on the door and the two of us broke apart. Sharon was standing at the doorway. “Um, sorry to interrupt, but Fury’s here.”

“Thank you, Sharon,” Steve said. “Bring your food out. If you aren’t going to eat it, let’s at least put in the fridge so we don’t get ants.” Following his own instructions, Steve took the bowl of soup and went to put it away while I sat down beside Tony. Fury was sharing hushed words with Natasha and Sharon in the corner of the base but when I came into view, the three of them went to stand by me. Steve joined shortly but Sam kept his distance, leaning against the wall and keeping a close eye on both entrances now.

“What’s our play?” Natasha asked.

“We need to get Wanda out of here,” Fury said. “I’ve got a plane waiting. We’ll be moving Wanda out of New York before the sun rises tomorrow.”

“Just like that?” I asked. I think I secretly knew that I wasn’t going to be staying in Manhattan for much longer than tonight but I don’t think it hit me what leaving meant until Fury said it out loud.

“Is that going to be a problem for you?” Fury said.

“I – I… It’s just, I never got the chance to say goodbye to my friends,” I whispered. “And…Peter and I were going to go to the Holiday Waltz together.”

My words hung in the air for a while. I tried to get a read on Fury’s expression but I couldn’t quite grasp what his body language was suggesting. Steve cleared his throat. “Fury, maybe we should give Wanda the chance to say goodbye to her friends. The dance is a week after winter break. We can take her out of the state and bring her back for just that night.”

“You want to risk losing our most important asset for a _high school dance?”_ Fury said, incredulously.

“Please, you have no idea what I’ve given up for S.H.I.E.L.D. already,” I urged. “Give me this one thing. We can all go to Colorado for winter break, post some photos there to lead Hydra astray and then come back here for a week. Then, you can take me to Taiwan and put me in a metal box for all I care. Just give me this one thing.”

Fury frowned. “You’ll be going to a S.H.I.E.L.D. safe house during winter break in Florida. I suppose since you’ve been as helpful as you’ve been and that I know you’ll be worried sick if I _don’t_ agree to this, you can bring your friends.”

“Really?” I gasped.

Fury chuckled. “Don’t say I’ve never done anything for you, but you’ll be moving the night of the dance. No exceptions.”

* * *

 

Knowing I could at least see Peter, Ned and Michelle one more time helped put me at ease. Following Fury’s instructions, I wasn’t allowed to leave the base that night. Tony had J.A.R.V.I.S. scanning traffic lights that whole night to see if he could find Rumlow’s face. He did, and it looked as though Rumlow was going in the opposite direction. There was no indication that Rumlow had any idea that I was there, nor was there any indication that he was even in Manhattan because of me. Of course, no one was ready to accept that as the truth so we stayed cautious and on high alert that entire night. I doubt that anyone besides Tony and myself got a wink of sleep, and I woke up, Steve and Natasha were still pacing around, and Sam and Sharon were still watching the entrances.

When I got out the only bedroom in the base, I shrugged on a sweater and went to sit down. “These are for you,” Natasha said. She handed me a packet of plane tickets. “These are for your friends. Our cover is going to be that Tony is taking your friends and us down to his new beach house in Florida. We’ll be taking a private plane, of course. Sharon will be posing as Steve’s sister, Kate Rogers. She leaves in Connecticut. Because Sam has an established cover with your friends, he’ll be leading point on a separate S.H.I.E.L.D. security operation that will be keeping watch as well.”

“When do I give it to them?” I asked.

“Soon,” Natasha said. “Fury wants us gone by Saturday morning. Text them and tell them to meet you at our apartment at 11:30 today for lunch. Give it to them as a Christmas present.”

I nodded. “Thank you. How much sleep did you get last night?”

Natasha smiled. “Do you honestly think I could sleep last night knowing that Hydra is out there?” She sighed. “I want you to say goodbye to your friends and I would never try to stop you from doing that, but the sooner we get out of New York, the better I’ll feel and the more likely I am to get some sleep. There are no beds here so that doesn’t help, either. I suppose it wasn’t the best planning to make this a one bedroom base.”

I laughed. A real laugh, too. Laughter and jokes breathed levity back into my body.

I texted Peter, Michelle and Ned a couple minutes after Natasha left to go to talk to Steve. A prior commitment that Nat and I had forgotten about. That was our explanation about why we had to leave the science fair so quickly.  I explained that I wanted them to come over to lunch to make up for me ditching them last night. It was hard to tell over text message whether or not they actually believed me, but they agreed. A minute later and I got a separate text from Peter asking if I was okay. I gave him some bullshit response and begged silently that he would just accept it and move on. When he responded with an ‘ _okay’_ , I knew I didn’t sell my story as convincingly as I should have but I was glad that he wasn’t trying to push the subject any further.

I hastily got up, ate some of the leftover soup from yesterday and drank a bottle of water per Natasha’s request. I was absolutely exhausted and bored sitting there, waiting. When it was time to go, the five adults escorted me through the tunnel in the parking garage that led directly to the hallway of our apartment. Quietly, as though any sound would alert Hydra of our whereabouts, we made our way to the apartment. Once inside, Natasha and Steve hurriedly began preparing food for lunch while Tony and Sam went to Natasha’s bedroom to set up computers for surveillance. Sharon was leaning against the wall in the living room, eyeing the balcony suspiciously. When the doorbell rang and we buzzed Peter, Michelle and Ned in, Steve and Natasha had finished heating up a pizza and a salad.

“Hey,” I said, awkwardly. All of my friends were staring at me with inquisitive expressions as I hurried them inside. “Uh, this is – this is _Kate_ Rogers. She’s my dad’s sister. This is Peter, Michelle and Ned.”

They exchanged formal handshakes before my friends went to sit at the kitchen table.

“I’m sorry about last night,” Natasha said as she poured my friends and I glasses of water. “Steve had to work so he asked for Wanda and I to pick Kate up at the airport and we had completely forgotten. We were almost an hour late.”

“Family is family, though,” Sharon smiled. “I had a good book, anyway.”

“Why did Mr. Wilson go with you guys?” Ned asked. I could tell that the intent behind his question wasn’t because he was suspicious of Natasha’s story.

It just an innocent question that I didn’t expect. Thankfully, Natasha had. “He knew a shortcut to the airport and was telling us as we rushed out the door. Sam’s a good friend of ours. He helped us through Clint’s death.” The moment Clint was mentioned, my friends shifted in their seats uncomfortably. Natasha seized the opportunity to change the subject. “We actually invited you here for a surprise gift – from all of us.”

“More of a _thank you note_ for being such great friends to Wanda,” Steve said, joining us at the table. “Wanda, why don’t you tell them?”

I smiled. I set the plane tickets out in front of them, divided up depending on the size of their family. “You guys know that my family and I are good family friends with Tony Stark. So he offered to take our family and any my friends – and your families of course – to Florida for all two weeks of winter break.”

There was silence between us as my friends began to comprehend what I was saying. They all looked at me in disbelief. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, are you being serious right now?” Peter said. He picked up the plane tickets. “These don’t even look like real plane tickets. What airline is…?” Peter trailed off as he kept reading the ticket. “ _Stark airlines_?!” He gaped.

“We get to ride on a private plane?!” Ned said, practically falling out of his chair.

“For two weeks?!” Michelle said. “With our family? And our friends? In Florida?”

“Wait,” Peter said, holding his hands. “Where exactly would we be staying? A hotel? Because I don’t know if May and I can afford–…”

“No, no, no,” Steve injected, shaking his head. “It’s not going to be that kind of a trip. Tony has a fairly sizable beach house down in Sanibel, Florida so there’ll be plenty of room for all of us to be there. He also has a guesthouse that, if your parents would be okay with it, all you kids would have to yourself. You guys don’t need to worry about the cost other than stuff you want to get when you’re there. Food will be covered. Tickets will be covered. This is our gift to your families and to you.”

My friends stared at my parents, then at each other and then back at me, their mouths open and their eyes wide. Peter took an unbalanced step toward Nat and Steve as he awkwardly tried to shake Steve’s hand. “You guys have – this is unbelievable. May already took the two weeks off from work to spend time with me. We’ll totally be there! This is – this is incredible. Thank you!” He kept shaking Steve’s hand.

“I don’t know if my parents will be able to come,” Michelle admitted.

“The invitation stands to whomever can make it,” Natasha said. “They can always meet later, too. I’m sure Stark will spring for some separate tickets.”

“And by Stark, you mean S.H.I.E.L.D., right?” Tony said over comms.

“Let your parents know tonight,” Steve said. He picked up a notepad and pen off of the kitchen counter and gave it to my friends. “Why don’t you guys write your parents’ emails down for me and I can shoot them an email explaining the trip a little bit more? In case they ask, though, Tony wants to take off Saturday morning at 7:30. I know this invitation is last minute but Tony didn’t tell us until recently. He likes surprises and being a bit of an inconvenience to everyone.”

“Hilarious,” Tony sneered.

My friends complied, still in shock. It made me happy to see that they were so excited about the trip and, if everything worked out, I was excited to get to spend two more weeks with a group of people who were actual, genuine friends. But I also hated knowing that this trip was just a set up that I could tell them that I was leaving forever and that, despite the phone numbers and email addresses I give them, I would never be contacting them again. But I had these last two weeks – and I had the dance. It was the most that Fury was going to give me, and I was going to take it and enjoy it.

We ate our pizza and salad and my friends were on their merry way.  I followed shortly back to the underground base, this time with more blankets and warmer sweaters since today was supposed to be even colder than yesterday. Steve insisted for Natasha and Sam to get some sleep while he and Sharon stay awake. A few hours, they rotated. Once Steve and Sharon finally fell asleep, my friends texted me responses. As he claimed, Peter and Aunt May would be able to make it; in their email, Aunt May thanked Steve and Tony at least ten times within a short paragraph. Michelle’s parents couldn’t go at all – they had business trips and prior engagements that they were unable to get out of – but they still gave her permission to go, and Ned’s parents could meet up with us Christmas Eve night; S.H.I.E.L.D. would be covering their first class seats.

Most of Friday was spent preparing logistics for the trip to Florida. Steve worked with Fury to arrange what plane we would get (apparently Sam would be our pilot, so it was important none of my friends see his face); Natasha was in charge of getting vehicles together, built with standard bullet proof/grenade proof/missile proof windows and doors and an automatic machine gun hidden underneath the seats; Tony was supposed to set up J.A.R.V.I.S. at the S.H.I.E.L.D. safe house; and Sharon was in charge of weaponry. All I was in charge of was keeping my friends updated with what they should pack, when they meet us, things like that – and, of course, packing. It was difficult to pack for a two week long vacation given that I was cooped up in the underground base. I wasn’t allowed to leave for the apartment until all five adults could come with me so while I waited, I listed out everything that I needed so I could be quick in the apartment. Once there, as I started digging around my closet, I realized how little clothes and little _anything_ in this apartment I had actually used. There were buckets of bathing suits – one pieces, weird bikini tops with crazy strings wrapping around the front back – that I never had use for until now. Unworn and unused. And I knew that when S.H.I.E.L.D. moved me to a completely different place, all of these clothes would be gone.

I folded piles of clothes and stuffed makeup and hair products into bags. Knowing that we would be taking a private plane, we wouldn’t have to go through all the intense airport security like before so we didn’t have the same restrictions that we would have otherwise. I could bring a bottle of my favorite smelling coconut shampoo, the honey-scented lotion, everything that I was starting to make me feel at home. This was probably the last time that I would be able to use it so I might as well enjoy it while I can. Natasha, who was an awfully fast packer, came to join me. She helped pack my clothes into suitcases and picked out her favorite swimsuits. Steve only wanted us in the apartment for an hour at most and so we hardly cared how beautiful the inside of our suitcases looked. After we finished jamming clothes inside my larger suitcases, I took one of the leather tote bags, again another unused accessory from S.H.I.E.L.D., and filled the insides with personal items: my computer, phone charger, a couple of books and an empty notebook. I couldn’t bring a lot of other things with me but I was _going_ to at least save a few photos and few memories of my friends.

We went back to the apartment, lugging heavy suitcases with us. Back at the underground base, we unpacked and repacked our suitcases with the sole purpose of passing the time. When it was Saturday morning, we woke up early and left quickly to get to Stark Towers before Peter and the others would meet us. I had to wear a bulletproof vest under my sweater, which made it uncomfortably hot and stiff. All six of us were armed, even Tony, who was still running our security system on his open tablet. Sam threw his luggage into the cargo of the plane and got into the pilot’s seat. Apparently a couple other S.H.I.E.L.D. agents would be posing as privately hired flight attendants but instead of giving us drinks, they’d be supplying ammunition if need be.

Peter, Michelle, Ned and Aunt May were carpooling to Stark Towers. When they came inside, they had the same reaction that I had when I first walked inside: absolutely speechless. It looked as though Peter was going to start gushing. “This is amazing,” Peter gasped. He followed me to the rooftop were Steve, Natasha, Tony and Sharon were waiting.

“Mr. Stark,” Aunt May said, abandoning her luggage to go shake his hand. “This place is absolutely beautiful and this is such an amazing gift. You have no idea what this means to me – to us.”

“Please, it was my pleasure,” Tony said.

“Aunt May, this is Wanda’s dad,” Peter said.

“Steve Rogers,” he said, shaking Aunt May’s hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Wanda’s talked a lot about you before.”

“And Peter has mentioned you a few times,” Aunt May said. She leaned over to Peter and said, “He’s not as big as you said he was.”

Peter flushed red. “May!” He whined.

Natasha chuckled. “My husband gets that a lot more than you would imagine. Hard to believe he’s an art major.”

Peter stepped a little closer to Steve and looked him up and down. “You at least played football? Or wrestled or something? Maybe did a lot of steroids in high school?

“Peter!” May exclaimed. “God, I’m so sorry. Teenage boys don’t use their brain that often. Must have been when Flash Thompson punched you upside your head.” Peter groaned. “Was it too soon to bring up, Peter?”

“Good thing Wanda was there,” Ned said.

“Okay, okay, okay. May, this is Wanda’s aunt, Kate,” Peter said, eager to change the subject. Sharon and Aunt May shook hands.

Tony cleared his throat. He was standing on the edge of the airstairs, wearing a suit and sunglasses, even though it was overcast outside. “Everyone, please, the pilot would like to take off now. If you wouldn’t mind tossing your checked baggage into the cargo. One personal item and one carry on item _only_. Let’s go, let’s go!” My friends got into a line to the cargo where a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent was helping us with suitcases. When we were finished checking our luggage, Tony led us up the flight stairs into the private plane. I was stunned with the interior of the plane. It was two-cabins long. The first cabin looked like a dining area: a small, well-stocked bar was in one corner and on the other side were two cream and dark brown leather chairs, a table in the middle and two more chairs on the other side; seat belts loosely hung beside each chair. A large television was playing ESPN was above the mini bar. In the back of the first cabin were four more chairs lined up against the wall. The second cabin had a long couch that wrapped around the side of the plane with a footrest in front on the left and on the other side sat two reclining chairs. Beside the bathroom door was another plasma screen TV.

“Oh my god,” Aunt May whispered.

“Is this what it’s like to be rich?” Peter gaped.

“For takeoff, the pilot requests that everyone seats in the first cabin with their seat belts securely fastened. Go ahead and stow your carry on items in the overhead bins. Put your personal items underneath your seats,” Tony said. “Once the Captain gives the okay, feel free to roam around the plane. It’ll be a three hour flight. It should be smooth sailing.” He shot a look at Steve, and then smiled. “Anyway, I’ve got flight attendants on board so if you want a drink made – or a virgin drink made – just press the blue buttons overhead.”

“Can we take the long way to Florida?” Ned asked. “I want to live on this plane.”

“Trust me, once you see the beach house you’ll be sick of this plane,” Tony grinned. “I’ll be in the captain’s den.”

“Are you flying this plane?” Steve asked.

Tony laughed. “Of course not. Please, everyone take your seat and enjoy your flight.” He left to go to the captain’s den.

Steve helped to put our carry on items in the overhead bins before the adults took the four chairs in front of the table and Peter, Michelle, Ned and I took the seats in the back. The seats were as comfortable as they looked, and each was equipped with a seat-warmer and an electric massage chair. I securely fastened my seatbelt and, looking around at the airplane, I tried to figure out how many guns were hidden. After everyone was settled in, a few flight attendants gave a routine safety speech about the emergency exits and how each seat was equipped with life jackets in the case of “unlikely emergency landing.” I wasn’t sure what other security details the plane was equipped with, but I figured it was a lot more than just life jackets and emergency exits.

The plane ride was very smooth. After we descended high enough and the seatbelt sign was taken off, the four of us went to the second cabin where we lounged around the couches, playing hangman and charades and watching the Discovery Channel per Peter and Ned’s request. Halfway through the flight, a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent came to offer us drinks and snacks. Every S.H.I.E.L.D. agent that passed by took a long look at the four of us. I wasn’t sure if Steve or Fury had showed them a picture of me – or how much these agents knew about this assignment. Fortunately, none of my friends seemed to notice and before we knew it, the flight was over. No one tried to hijack the plane – there wasn’t even bad turbulence. Tony came out to greet us and Steve helped to get our carry on items out of the overhead bins. It was mild outside, probably low seventies but it was sunny and beautiful outside. We landed at the Fort Myers airport, but because this was a private plane we didn’t have to wait to get off, nor did we need to travel around to get to a gate. I wasn’t sure how much money S.H.I.E.L.D. had to throw at the owners of Fort Myers to let a private plane land there, but regardless, we got off near the edge of the runway and hurriedly made our way to the parking garage where cars and personal drivers were waiting for us. I could tell that Steve and Natasha were still on edge, as was I, with the thought that Hydra could find us.

 _This was a different state,_ I told myself. _There’s no way Hydra knows you’re here._

It was a twenty-mile drive to Sanibel, but the scenery was absolutely beautiful. Long stretches of beaches with ocean views, palm trees, fallen oranges littering the ground, and lots and lots of animals. Besides Manhattan, this was the only part of the US that I’d ever seen. There was _nothing_ like this in Sokovia. There was hardly anything that constituted as a “beach” or a “lake” there either. I remembered that I was supposed to be the girl that traveled to state after state after state so I tried to keep myself from looking too awe-struck. It was very hard, though. And when we got to the private beach house, it was even harder.

At first, the only thing that I could see were massive palm trees and vines wrapping around a stone hedge that completely blocked our sight of the beach house. Then, as we drove closer to the front entrance, we stopped just short in front of a metal gate. I could see the building, and it was unbelievable. Beyond the colorful and vibrant garden and plants out front, there was a water feature dead set in the middle of the circular driveway. The house itself, tan with lots of windows, stood several stories high, with a three-car garage and porch out front. There was a separate building that matched the color scheme of the main building; I assumed this was the guest house in which Peter, Michelle, Ned and I would be staying.

“Wow,” Peter gasped. “This is unbelievable.”

“I know…,” Tony said as we stopped in front of the gate. Tony got out of his car to type in a security code. “The code is 1043,” Tony said over comms. “The keys are fingerprinted so we’re the only people that can get inside this house – none of your friends can get inside without one of us, Wanda.”

The gate swung open and we drove our cars around the water feature and into the garage. The adults went into the main house while Steve led my friends and I to the guest room. I typed in the code at the front entrance and the door unlocked itself. It was smaller than the main house with just a main foyer that led to a living room and then a set of stairs that went to the second floor where bedrooms were. But still. The living room had a massive plasma screen TV sitting a black cabinet. Two long couches were on the left and the right and one love seat was in the middle. Fenced in by couches was a small coffee table with flowers in the center. Beyond the bedrooms upstairs, there was a small living space in which cabinets full of DVDs, video games, puzzles and books were placed and organized in alphabetical order. Michelle and I would shared the room on the right; Peter and Ned would share the room on the opposite end of the hall. Both bedrooms were equipped with a walk-in closet and a full bathroom.

Before we joined the adults back in the main house, we unpacked.  Our bedroom was simple: made of hardwood floors, the largest piece of furniture was the queen-sized bed, which rested upon a tribal pattern rug. A bench, which Michelle and I put our personal items on, sat in front of the bed. Nightstands were on either side; a small reddish brown chair was in the corner and full length windows with curtains let in natural light that shone directly on the bed. One door to the left of the bed led to the bathroom and the door right next to the bathroom was our closet. Peter and Ned finished unpacking before us and they went to look through the movies and video games in the lounge room.

After we finished unpacking, we went to the main house. The minute I walked into the house, I had to admit that Tony was correct when said that the plane would pale in comparison. The colors in the beach house consisted of white, tan, more white and then various shades of light blue. Rugs cabinets and doorways were stark white; tables were typically light tan and lamps; pillows, pictures, some chairs and everything else had splashes blue here and there. The one thing that might seem out of place to people that didn’t know this was a S.H.I.E.L.D. location designed to look like a beach house, was that there were very few windows at ground level and there were absolutely no glass doors. Everything was covered.

Steve, Natasha, Sharon, Aunt May and Tony were sitting around the kitchen counter, talking over a bottle of red wine. When the four us walked inside, Tony straightened up and said, “What do you think?”

“This place is sweet,” Peter said, walking in circles as he examined the main house. “H – how do I get one of these?”

Tony laughed. “Rob a bank. It’s your best bet. Alright, would you kids like something to drink? We have soda, diet soda, water, lemonade, sparkling cider, you name it, we got it.” We listed off what we wanted to drink. Tony went to check the fridge and he frowned. “I guess the sparkling lemonade for Michelle is in the other fridge…”

Steve stood up. “I can get it. Wanda, why don’t you come with me?” He leaned a little closer to us. “We’re trying to plan a thank you gift to Tony.” I knew this was a lie but I pretended otherwise. Once we were out of earshot of the others, Steve whispered in a low voice, “J.A.R.V.I.S. has been scanning security cameras all across any major airport in New York and in Florida with facial recognition. So far we haven’t had any hits of men from Hydra. I don’t want to say we’re in the clear but as of a now, we don’t have a reason to believe that Hydra is in Florida.”

“Did we ever figure out why Rumlow was in Manhattan?” I asked.

Steve shook his head. “Not yet.” He got out the sparkling lemonade out of the other fridge, which was in the garage. “Wanda, try to enjoy these next couple of weeks. Sam is running a five-man protection detail, not to mention you have Sharon, Nat, Tony and J.A.R.V.I.S. running security and me. Leave the worrying to me, Wanda.” He clapped me on the back and pulled me into a one-armed hug. “When do you plan on telling your friends that you’re leaving?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t even know where I’m supposed to say we’re moving to. Or why.”

“We’re moving Los Angeles. A Hollywood studio offered me a job to help illustrate a cartoon,” Steve said. “Wanda, I just want you to know that the longer you wait, the harder it’ll be.”

I sighed. Why does Steve have to be right about everything? I held the door open for him and we walked into the kitchen together. Looking at our happy my friends were, I felt miserable having to tell them that I was moving. But Steve had a point, and I knew that they would be angrier if I kept them in the dark for longer than need be. So, it was decided that after dinner sometime tonight, I would tell my friends that I was leaving.


	18. Wanda Maximoff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wanda Maximoff enjoys the remaining time she has with her friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a pretty long chapter but there's a lot of things that happen in this. 
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy it!

Chapter Eighteen: Wanda Maximoff

We decided to spend the rest of the day at the beach. I threw on this high-waisted black bottom with a matching bikini top. Looking at myself in the mirror of the bathroom, it was the first time that I had the opportunity to see my body, I mean actually examine myself, in the past few months since Natasha and Steve had taken me in. When Pietro and I were living on the streets, I rarely ate full meals and when I did, it was because Hydra supplemented them. You could see my ribs without me flexing or sucking in and my cheeks and neck were gaunt. I was always on the slender side but there was more meat on my body, my curves were more defined, and my cheeks and face looked roundish and healthy. I could still see scars from years of abuse but they weren’t so potent now.

“That’s cute,” Michelle said as she came to join me. “Where did you get it from?”

“I have no idea. My mom got it for me,” I said.

My friends and I went to hang out at the beach, which was literally in our backyard. It was the perfect mild mid-seventies in Florida, and I loved every second of being outside in the warm sunshine. Steve, Natasha, Aunt May, Sharon and Tony came out to join us. I knew that Natasha and Steve were incredibly worried and on high stress by the way that they looked down the beach every few minutes so I was quite surprised when Natasha and Steve went to wade in the ocean a little bit (I had to admit that it was probably just a ploy to get away from Aunt May so that they could talk about my protection detail). Natasha and Steve came out of the water about thirty minutes later and when Natasha reached a towel, stretching her arms out, I saw what looked like pink, marred flesh on her lower stomach. Apparently I wasn’t the only person who saw that.

“That’s a crazy scar your mom has,” Peter said. “Do you know what happened?”

_Of course I know what happened. A Hydra agent shot her._

I shrugged. “I don’t know. She used to be a huge athlete back when she was in high school so she must have hurt herself playing sports or something.”

“Oh. You look nice,” Peter said, bumping into my shoulder. “Are you having a good time?”

“Yeah, I am,” I said, honestly. “Are you?”

Peter smiled and nodded. “Yeah. And thanks. Aunt May and I, we can’t really afford these sorts of things so it was really nice of you – mostly Mr. Stark – to bring us. I knew going out with you would have its benefits at point or another.”

I laughed and hit Peter in the shoulder. We stayed on the beach until 7:30, when we were exhausted and hot and beat red from the sun. Thankfully, the safe house was heavily air-conditioned. Steve made us homemade pizzas and Tony whipped us up some smoothies. We gathered around the living room where we turned on a movie and talked. Dinner was over and the adults admitted that they were exhausted and ready for bed. Michelle, Peter, Ned and I weren’t tired yet so after we took showers and changed, we went out back to a covered, outdoor fire pit with plush, cushioned chairs that faced the beach. It was beautiful outside. The fire was automatic so we put it on low setting so it wasn’t that cold outside. I got a blanket and wrapped it around Peter and I. He put his arm around my shoulders.

“Wanda, this place is amazing,” Michelle said.

I smiled. “I’m glad you guys could come. It’s nice to be able to hang out with you guys.”

“Don’t say it like it’s the last time, Wanda,” Ned laughed. “It’s not like we’re graduating this year. I mean, Peter could probably graduate early with all the extra credits he has.”

“Please guys, you know I don’t want to leave you guys any earlier than I have too,” Peter said.

“I feel the same way,” I whispered.

Peter looked over at me, his brow furrowed. “Are you alright, Wanda?”

I sighed. “There’s something I need to tell you guys.”

Peter kept his arm around my shoulders but gave me some space. Michelle and Ned leaned a little bit closer to me. “What’s going on, Wanda?” Peter asked.

“When I moved here, I didn’t realize that I was going to be so attached to a group of people in such a short amount of time. And it sucks because that time is over… I’m moving a week after winter break is over,” I whispered.

“What do you mean you’re moving?” Peter said.

“My dad got a job in LA and he took it.” I felt my eyes swell with tears as I realized that it was more painful to lie to these three people that I loved so much compared to how I actually felt about moving. I wrapped my fingers loosely around Peter’s. “I’m sorry. Believe me, I want to stay but–…”

“Wanda,” Michelle interrupted. “They’re your parents, Wanda.” She reached forward and touched my shoulders. “Thank you for letting me come here and meeting your family and you. It was an honor to be your friend. And, you know what? Yeah, it’s across the country but friendship never dies. We’ll keep in touch, right?”

I smiled. “O – of course,” I lied. I pulled Michelle into a hug and savored the moment. Why couldn’t Fury have just locked me in an underground basement instead of sending me to Manhattan Academy. It would be a million times more boring but a million times less painful.

We spent another hour outside before we got cold and drifted to the living room in the guesthouse where we watched a movie. Michelle and Ned went to bed while Peter and I stayed up for a little longer, wrapped in blankets, his arms around me. He was uncharacteristically quiet for someone who could normally talk for twenty minutes with only stopping to breath between paragraphs. I repositioned myself so that I was facing Peter. It looked like there were a million different things running through his mind. It was hard to tell what exactly he was thinking. “Are you alright?” I asked. I snaked my fingers around his back and pulled myself closer.

Peter shrugged. “It’s late.”

“What’s going on?” I asked.

There was a long pause before Peter sighed deeply. “You know I love you, right? And I love being with you and spending time with you so when I say this, I’m not trying to hurt you, okay?”

“Um, okay,” I said.

“You and I both know that high school relationships normally don’t mean anything, right?” He said. I laughed. “But honestly. We’re teenagers. We’re too young to even understand the _concept_ of love, let alone actually feel it. I’m taking real love. Like, I’d-take-a-bullet-for-you love and I’d-give-up-everything-I-have-love, like your parents.” I wanted to laugh but I also knew a part of what Peter said about Natasha and Steve still rung true. “And, we’ve only been dating for a little over a month so I think it’s safe for me to say that we aren’t quite there yet.”

I smiled. “It is safe for you to say that, yes,” I said.

Peter chuckled. He brushed my hair out of my eyes and said, “When I started going out with you, I never really thought about the future, or how long we would last. The fact of the matter is I’m more upset to think that one of my best friends is moving across the country.”

“I don’t want to lose you Peter,” I whispered. “I’m just scared that I will.”

Peter lifted my chin up so that he could look into my eyes a little bit better. He leaned forward and kissed me softly. He was commanding but still gentle, a million times better than the last time that I kissed at the science expo. The kiss deepened. His fingers wrapped around my cheeks and he pulled him closer to me. “Wanda,” he whispered, breathing heavy as he pulled away.  “Promise me that when you move to LA, even if we don’t stay together as a couple, we can stay together as friends?” I couldn’t help myself; tears began to seep from my eyes and run down my cheeks. Peter’s expression softened. “It’s okay. I’m sad, too.”

“You don’t understand,” I whispered.

“I’ve moved before,” Peter said. He wiped a tear or two away and peppered my cheeks with kisses. “Wanda, it’s going to be okay. I promise you that.”

_If Hydra doesn't go after you, Michelle or Ned, then I guess everything will be okay…_

We turned on another movie and stayed in the living room the entire night. Peter kept his arms wrapped around me; it was a little uncomfortable but I was okay with it. Tony kept the air-conditioning as cold as the secret base in Manhattan and all we had to keep ourselves warm was the fuzzy brown blanket in the living room so Peter’s arms kept me warm. It was a little uncomfortable but Peter fell asleep before we could go upstairs or before we could reposition ourselves. I could barely sleep that night, whether it was the fear that Hydra was outside or the fact that I knew I had to keep lying to my friends that I was going to be able to keep in contact with them. There was nothing that I could do about that, though. It wasn’t Fury who would forbid me from keeping in contact with them. _I_ didn’t want to keep in contact with them because if Hydra ever found them… I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if anything happened to Peter, Michelle or Ned.

We woke up late the next morning. Everyone was already awake and dressed the next morning when Peter and I finally went to the main house. I knew Steve and Natasha knew Peter and I didn’t sleep in our respective beds, but as far as I could tell, Aunt May was still ignorant to the fact. Peter kept his hands in mine as we went to join everyone at the table for omelettes and fresh fruit. We settled into seats beside each other, Michelle and Ned glancing in our general direction as we came into view. The adults didn’t seem to notice and we had a happy, very talkative breakfast. That day, Aunt May and Michelle wanted to tour Sanibel. Though it was still up in the air whether or not Hydra knew that I was here, Steve decided that since J.A.R.V.I.S. and Sam have vigilantly been looking for Hydra agents on any  and every camera in the state of Florida and have yet to find anyone, it was safe for me to leave the house. Under my friends’ and Aunt May’s noses, Steve instructed Sam and his unit to tail us while we were in Sanibel.

We spent the day at a farmer’s market just outside of the city. It wasn’t very populated, which was nice, and it wasn’t that hot out, which was nicer. There was a rock-climbing wall, and Steve and Peter competed against each other. Steve smiled politely when Peter beat him by nearly three seconds. Natasha, however, showed both of them up. Michelle and I wandered around together (a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent that I recognized happened to be working at one of the smoothie stations Michelle and I went to). We ate out for lunch and came back to spend the rest of the day at the beach. Knowing that this was probably the last time I would be in the United States, assuming that Fury would move me as far away from here as possible, made me sad, and I was determined to enjoy every last second of this beautiful city and state.

A routine quickly set in after the first two days in Florida. Peter and I tended to sleep on the couch, together, even though Ned offered to give up his bed for us. It became so normalized that the weird looks from Michelle and Ned the morning after during breakfast ceased. For breakfast, Tony had one of his cooks (a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, of course) make us a very lavish and grand breakfast. While heaps of fresh fruit, orange juice and iced lemonade were a staple for breakfast, the main course rotated from omelettes containing fresh vegetables and cheese to warm beignets with lots of powder sugar to corned beef hash. Occasionally, we would make plans the previous night to tour a wildlife reserve and go more toward the main cities in Florida to sight see, but for the most part, we spent our days lounging lazily at the beach and enjoying the sunlight. Around lunch time we would get sick of being in the heat and go back to the beach house where Steve or May would make us sandwiches and serve soda and water. Sometimes, my friends and I would go back to the guesthouse where we played video or board games while the adults stayed indoors, drinking bottles of wine. We went out for dinner at a lot of the times, dining a very expensive places with no worry about the cost, considering that S.H.I.E.L.D. was paying for everything.

Days progressed, and I wasn’t at all surprised to see Aunt May and Steve get along great together. They bonded over the same cooking magazines, discussed the very serious topics that were featured in Steve’s drawings for the _Times_ , and both shared very similar paternal instincts over kids, even if they weren’t their own. I told May a few days after I told Peter. She was equally devastated, but very happy to hear that I would be staying for the Holiday Waltz and also insisted that I can keep in contact with her. Smiling behind the pain, I added Aunt May’s contact to my cell phone.

Ned’s parents arrived late Christmas Eve. They were just like Ned: happy and bubbly and welcoming. We had a delightful dinner that night, which culminated with Tony and Steve getting in an argument about artificial intelligence controlling society and the advantages and disadvantages about it. Ned’s parents were exhausted from their flight, and they went to bed after chatting with Peter, Michelle, Ned and I. The following day, we had a very delightful Christmas. The Christmas tree in the living room was lit up. A scented candle made the entire beach house smell like gingerbread cookies. Presents wrapped in gold and white and silver wrapping paper surrounded the Christmas Tree. Tony got Michelle, Peter and Ned a $100 gift to Amazon; Steve got Natasha a very expensive diamond necklace; I got Steve a new set of expensive calligraphy pens; Steve and Natasha got Aunt May a new dining set that was supposed to be at her doorway when we got back. It was a time of giving and happiness and, while I was ecstatic over the jewelry and chocolate, it wasn’t as important as seeing the smiles on the faces of everyone I loved.

When breakfast was over and as Steve and I were going to throw away the wrapping paper, he handed me a letter with pink envelope.  Written on the front of the envelope in blue ink was _‘the Bartons.’_

“What is this?” I asked.

“Laura wanted to give you this. She wrote it right before we left for Florida.” Steve said. “Go ahead. Read it.”

I opened up the letter:

_ <<Wanda, _

_It’s Laura. No, I don’t know where you are. Fury would never allow it, but what’s new? I heard about what happened at the science expo. I’m sorry. I really am sorry. Having to leave a place that you’ve considered home, even for as a little time as you’ve spent in Manhattan, must be extremely difficult. Whenever Clint would get a new assignment, I would move with him. Once Cooper came along, he tried to avoid going out of the country as much as possible. He didn't always get what he wanted. It was hard on us at first but it was something that everyone in our family was ready to accept. I miss him, as I’m sure you do. I thought things would get easier but they really haven’t._

_Lila and Cooper have been asking about you. They want to know when you’ll visit next. I don't know how to explain to them why we won't be seeing you again, at least not anytime soon. Wow. Writing it down only makes our goodbye that much more real. Wanda, even though I was only fortunate enough to know you for a little over a month, you brought newfound joy to my life. Clint and I haven’t had the chance to raise a teenager together but for a month that I knew you, I felt like you were our kid. And that feeling is going away anytime soon. Wanda, I’m not sure what will happen to you and I’m not sure what will happen to my life, either, but please know that you will always have a special place in my heart._

_Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays, Wanda._

_Laura Barton >> _

I closed the letter, tears welling in my eyes. I looked up at Steve. “Thank you for this giving this to me,” I said. “Have you been able to keep in contact with Laura since Thanksgiving?”

Steve shrugged. “Not as much as I should. Laura’s a good person. She and her family don’t deserve to go through what they’re going through right now.” He wrapped his arm around my shoulder. “I’m sorry, Wanda. I know you were close with them.”

“It’s okay. I should’ve known better than to get too attached to anyone,” I muttered.

“When this is all done, you can go wherever you like with whomever you like,” Steve promised. “Come on, let’s go back inside before Natasha thinks that Hydra killed us.”

“Hilarious,” I said as we walked back into the kitchen.

Despite the fact that S.H.I.E.L.D. agents were at our disposal to make our Christmas dinner, we preferred for everyone to pitch in together to prepare Christmas dinner. Tony brought Steve and I to the closest grocery store where we picked up a pre-ordered honey baked ham with a sugary crust and ingredients for dinner. Steve and Aunt May were the two best cooks, and Natasha and Sharon offered to be their sous chefs for the day. Peter, Michelle, Ned and I set the table and decorated the impressive-looking dining room with candles and flowers and lights that Tony had storage for the day. Even though it was a S.H.I.E.L.D. safe house, I felt at home knowing that I was surrounded with the people that I loved most. When there wasn’t much left to do for dinner that night, we settled in the living room to watch the Golden State/Cleveland basketball game that Tony and Peter were excitedly talking about for the past couple of days. Basketball was as much of a foreign concept as American fast food was, but Peter, Michelle and Tony were all into the game so I tried to be as enthusiastic as possible about it.

Dinner was unbelievable. By the time I was finished eating, I was stuffed full of honey baked ham, homemade honey-butter filled rolls, spinach and kale salad and roasted brussel sprouts. Steve, though normally very austere, drained several glasses of wine, and Natasha, Tony and Aunt May weren’t shy about the amount of alcohol they consumed. Natasha let me try some of whatever she was drinking; I didn’t know the name but, god, it was strong and bitter. I stuck to the sparkling cider that my friends and I went through as fast as Natasha went through bullets on a regular day at the office. For dessert, Sharon made mini eggnog cheesecakes, at least enough for everyone to  have thirds. I was full after my first one. Ned’s parents and Aunt May helped to put the food away, and afterwards we watched _How the Grinch Stole Christmas_ and _Home Alone_. Both were supposed to be American classics, so I pretended to be extremely familiar with both.

After Christmas was over, the remaining days that we had in Florida passed quickly. Even with the looming countdown that I had left with my friends hung over my head and the loads of jealousy that followed seeing Peter, Michelle and Ned laughing over one of their million inside jokes that came with being friends for years, I remained happy and content throughout the rest of the week. Friday night, I found myself looking around the dinner table, at my friends and family that I would love for the rest of my life. When dinner was finished, we went to the living room where we watched a movie and then we said our good nights. Aunt May pulled me into a long hug. “Thanks for taking care of Peter these last few months,” she said. “And thank you for bringing us to this beautiful house!” She exclaimed, looking over at Tony and resting her hand tenderly on his shoulder.

“It’s been a pleasure getting to know you, May,” Tony said.

“What time are we leaving tomorrow?” Michelle asked.

“Plane is taking off at 11:30 tomorrow night,” Steve said, very matter-a-factly. “It’s not leaving early, but let’s try to get plenty of rest tonight.” He shot a look at Peter and me when Peter wasn't looking.

Peter, Michelle, Ned and I went to the guesthouse where we, as usual, settled into the couches in the guest room. We played a few board games together and, when it was 12:30 in the morning, we sat around talking. “Is it weird to think that we only have a little over a week left together?” Michelle asked.

“I don’t want to think about it,” I said.

“You’ll come visit whenever you get the chance, right Wanda?” Ned asked. “Christmas break and everything?”

I smiled. “If my parents will let me. God, can you imagine how expensive plane tickets from LA to Manhattan are?”

“You’re parents must really love living in big cities,” Peter said. He grabbed a hold of my hand and smiled. “At least promise that we’ll FaceTime each.”

_We can’t, Peter, and I wish I could tell you why._

“I’ll try,” I said.

My friends and I sat around the living room for a little bit longer until we were all too tired to stay up any longer. Michelle insisted on sleeping on the couch tonight (some excuse about wanting to binge watch _Friends_ ) and passed up on sleeping in our bed tonight. With the bed free, Michelle offered for Peter and me to sleep there. Michelle kept the bedroom nice and clean: there were no clothes strewn about the floor, the flowers were still fresh and Christmas lights stilled decorated the walls. The lights weren’t very bright; it was just bright enough for us to see the faint outlines of our own face. We looked over at the still-made bed. Peter cleared his throat. “I know that we aren’t ready for _that_ but we don’t even have to be in the same bed if you aren’t ready…”

“No,” I insisted, firmly. “It’s okay.” Getting into the same bed with Peter was nothing like what happened with the men in Sokovia. He wouldn’t hurt me, and I knew that for a fact by now. We crawled inside, together. We pulled the sheets around us and settled into a more comfortable position: Peter’s and my feet touched each other’s. I pressed my forehead against Peter’s. “I’m going to miss you… a lot, Peter.”

“I’ll miss you, too,” he said. He leaned forward and pressed his lips against my own. The way that Peter lightly brushed his fingers against my cheek, the way he was so gentle with me all the time, made me realize how much more I was going to miss this. Us. Our relationship, and not just the dating aspect of our relationship. I was glad that I didn’t let my own terror of being in such close proximity with any man, even one as harmless as Peter, stop myself from being happy. Peter wasn’t like those other men, not just because Peter never used his own strength as a means to hurt or control me. He felt me not for his own pleasure but with the sole purpose of _feeling_ me. He was careful and understanding. And I loved him for that. I was going to miss the way the Peter stopped to look at me when I was walking behind him to make sure that I wasn’t lost or when he offered a shoulder for me to sleep on during our lunch break after a sleepless night. It wasn’t necessarily the intimacy behind our relationship. It was the little things. And it was how we cared about each other. I wasn’t going to miss having a boyfriend as much as I was going miss the person to whom I felt the closest since Pietro.

Peter pulled me in closer. He was tangling his fingers in my hair and pressing his body intensely against my own. He repositioned himself so that he was practically on top of me. Though practically his entire body was over mine, I never felt stifled or pinned down. My fingers ran along the buttons of Peter’s shirt. He grabbed a hold of mine and stopped me. “You don’t have to do anything that you don’t want to do. Don’t feel like—.”

“Shhh,” I said. I fumbled my way to undoing the buttons on Peter’s white shirt and eased it off of his shoulders. Peter threw his shirt aside. I ran my fingers slowly over his bare chest: muscles as hard as a rock and skin as smooth as silk. God, he was _hot._ Our arms stayed wrapped around each other, kissing passionately. Peter’s fingers splayed across the bottom of my stomach. He tentatively reached for the hems of my shirt. “It’s okay,” I whispered again. My cheeks were red. I was incredibly nervous but this it was going to be okay. I helped Peter get my shirt off. Looking at his eyes, I could tell this was probably the first girl that Peter had ever seen close to naked. His eyes went slightly wide and I could him draw in sharp breath.

“You’re beautiful,” Peter said. I wrapped my arms around Peter and pressed his bare chest against my own. We fooled around a lot but this was the farthest that we had ever gone. The way that he caressed and massaged my bare chest and shoulders, the way that he kissed and played with the nape of my neck, it felt so goddamn right. “Wanda,” Peter breathed heavily. “God, this is…” He kissed me, again, hungrily “It’s hard to imagine that this is farthest I’ve gone with a girl… and my aunt is twenty feet away.”

“Peter!” I moaned.

“I know,” Peter said, sucking my neck again.

“No,” I said. I pulled away from Peter, laughing. “Peter, you can’t bring up your aunt and not expect yourself to kill the moment.” I looked up at Peter’s face. The Christmas lights were just bright enough for me to see how absolutely flushed Peter was; his chest was heaving as he tried to catch his breath. I kissed his neck. “Tip: if you ever get married, don’t bring up your mother when you’re consummating your relationship.”

“Oh god, don’t use the word consummating,” Peter said, rolling over.

He picked up my shirt and handed it to me. “Thanks,” I said and pulled it on. “Why did we do that, Peter? Now it’s going to be even harder to say goodbye to you on Sunday.”

“I know,” Peter whispered. He paused for a second, and I looked up at his eyes.

I could see that there was something bugging him. “I’m sorry that I just sprung this on you. I know I may be overreacting but I really didn’t want to hurt you.”

“It’s not that, Wanda,” Peter said, shaking his head. He looked down into my eyes. “Look, please don’t take this as any offense and please don’t think that I’m trying to belittle your dad but, are you leaving Manhattan because of your father’s work? Or is it something else?”

“What are you talking about?” I asked. I was too confused to react properly.

“Does this have to do with that guy you saw at the science expo?” Peter asked.

The smile melted off of my face. “What are you… what are you talking about, Peter? I told you what happened at the science fair. We had to pick up my aunt.”

“You mean your neighbor that lives upstairs?” Peter said.

My breathing started to falter. “Peter…”

“Wanda, I’m at your house all the time. I’ve seen your neighbors walk in and out of the elevator and go up and down the stairs. I knew I recognized that woman — it just took me some time to remember where I saw her,” Peter said. “Look, I don’t know why you lied to me about your neighbor or whatever, but I’m sure that your parents must have had a good reason for it otherwise they wouldn’t have gone along with it. And quite frankly, I’m sure it’s none of my business to try and find out. Honestly, Wanda, if you’re trouble or if your parents are trouble or if there’s something going, my Aunt and I know someone on the force. When Uncle Ben died—…”

“Peter,” I interrupted. Lie. Come up with something to explain what’s going on with Sharon. Fucking nothing. “It’s okay… I’m okay, I promise. Please don’t worry about me.”

“Promise me you’ll take care of yourself in LA,” Peter said.

I smiled. “Trust me, my parents aren't going to let anything happen to me.” At least one thing that I said to him was truthful.

Peter, still bare-chested, with his arms wrapped around me to keep me warm, fell asleep shortly afterwards. I couldn’t help by lie there, looking out the window in panic. How could this teenage boy be so perceptive to notice something that two fully-trained S.H.I.E.L.D. agents didn’t think anyone would notice? What was worse was the fact that Peter _saw_ Rumlow? And if Hydra ever found out that some civilian saw one of their best agents, what would ever happen to Peter? Feeling more terrified than I had when I first saw Rumlow at the science fair, I kept myself close to Peter in fear that if I let go for even a second, he would slip out of my fingers. The next morning, I was glad to wake up and find that Peter hadn’t even tried to move from my side. We got dressed in separate rooms and walked down to breakfast. Saturday morning, the entire time we were at the beach and the entire flight home in the S.H.I.E.L.D.’s amazing private plane, Peter never once mentioned our conversation last night. I loved him for respecting my privacy, even if he caught me in a huge, bogus lie.

The minute we landed in New York and the second that my friends and their parents were out of sight, I was whisked back to the underground base where I was supposed to stay until Friday. My parents sent the attendance office an email and I sent a very similar one to my teachers explaining that I came down with a very bad virus. In that same email, I also explained to my teachers that I would moving at the end of the weekend. When my teachers responded, most didn’t mention much about makeup work that I needed to do and, instead, wished me good luck and went on about how much they were going to miss me. Though I didn’t have a incredibly strong relationship with my teachers, I was sad to be leaving a group of adults that truly seemed to care about my well-being, especially Dr. Banner. More frustrated about the fact that I couldn’t spend my last week with Peter and my friends at school than I was about having to stay cooped up in the underground base, I texted my friends and FaceTimed Peter back in the apartment whenever I got cleared with Steve and Natasha to go back.

Despite the fact that I was stuck doing nothing in the base, I was becoming increasingly excited for the Holiday Waltz. While FaceTiming, Peter showed me the gold-worded ticket to the dance. He began asking me questions about the color of dress, and what tie he should get. “Um,” I said, looking dumbly at Natasha. She held up a piece of paper and the words _‘blue and magenta’_ were etched on it. “My dress is _blue and magenta…_ Maybe just go with blue... ”

“What shade of blue?” Peter asked.

Natasha rolled her head back in frustration. _Royal blue_ , she mouthed and I repeated the same thing.

“What about a corsage? What color corsage should I get?” Peter asked.

I looked back at Natasha and she spoonfed me the color. “Magenta pink..”

“Magenta… I don’t really know what color that is.”

_Neither do I._

“I’ll just google it,” Peter said. “Just to let you know, I’m pretty miserable at dancing so I hope you don’t have high expectations.” I laughed.

We talked for a little bit longer before Aunt May asked for Peter to go do his chores. Peter reluctantly said goodbye and then disconnected the call. I looked over at Natasha. “I haven’t even started thinking about what dress I’m going to be wearing.”

Natasha smiled. “Don’t worry. S.H.I.E.L.D. is making a custom-made dress for you.”

“Really?” I said.

“Our treat. We owe you, Wanda,” Natasha said. “So do a lot of other people.”

* * *

Steve and Natasha let me go back to school Friday. When I went to my locker, Peter, Michelle and Ned were already waiting for me, their arms outstretched for a massive group hug. “Oh, I’m gonna miss you so much!” Michelle said, pulling me into another embrace. “How much bad luck do you have that you have to get really sick your last week in Manhattan?”

“At least we still have tonight!” Ned exclaimed. “We’re going to hang out tonight, right?”

“Get out of the base for a day,” Tony said over comms. “Might as well enjoy yourself while you’re still allowed to see sunlight.”

“I’m down for whatever you guys have planned,” I said.

The warning bell rang. “Let’s go to bio, shall we?” Peter said. We waved goodbye to Michelle and Ned before turning and walking in the opposite direction. Peter kept his arm loosely in my own. We hadn’t really talked about the conversation we had the last night in Florida, and I could tell that that conversation was weighing down on Peter’s mind. I wanted to talk about it but there was nothing I could say or do to explain why I lied to Peter without giving away my cover. At least once this was over, I wouldn’t have to face someone like Peter again. I guess running away was always easier.

Right after school, Natasha and Steve prepped me for that night with Michelle, Ned and Peter. They got me dressed in a comfortable jacket that was loose enough to hide two sidearms now and made sure that my tracking device was still properly functioning. My friends picked me up, laughing and snapping random pictures of my apartment and of me; seeing Peter’s camera strapped around his neck made it seem like it was the beginning of the year, before _this_. They brought me into a small taxi. “So Wanda, I know that your parents are super into scrapbooking memories of places that you’ve visited so we all thought we could take you sightseeing around New York,” Michelle said. “We thought we start with either the Museum of Modern Art or the American Museum of Natural History. We’ll try to make it to both but we’ll probably only be able to go to one because they both close at around 5:30. Afterwards, we would go to the Empire State Building Times Square and then end in Central Park. Sometime in there, we’ll have dinner at Chinatown. Is that alright with you or…?”

“No, that sounds great!” I exclaimed.

We decided to go the American Museum of Natural History, which was a pretty close drive from my apartment. Because we had our student IDs with us, we didn’t have to pay the full price for tickets. My friends offered to pay for me, but I refused (it wasn’t like _I_ was actually paying for anything). Peter practically lived and breathed for this museum so he went on and on about each exhibit. I was fascinated listening to the exhibits about mummies and prehistoric giants. I didn’t know much of any of this so I was soaking in as much information as I could. Beside a few photography restrictions, we took a number of photos of us and of the exhibits. When we finished with the American Museum of Natural History, we went to the Empire State Building next. We took the bus since taking a taxi everywhere would have been too expensive for four teenagers. The Empire State Building was open practically all day so we took our time going through the exhibits and walking up to the top floor. There wasn’t as many people waiting to visit the very top of the building as I expected but we still had to wait in line. Finally, Peter, Michelle, Ned and I were ushered to the top level. Standing at the edge of the Empire State building, I was once again shocked to see how absolutely _beautiful_ Manhattan was: the buildings that shimmered in the low-hanging sunlight and the way that cars, though the streets were practically a parking lot, lit up the roads with their orange headlights.

“LA has nothing on Manhattan,” Peter whispered.

I smiled and leaned into his shoulder. “I guess you’re right on that.”

We stayed at the Empire State Building until Michelle started complaining of being hungry. According to Peter and Ned, no restaurant could beat the food found at the New York Chinatown. Peter and Ned knew all the great restaurants since they made a point of going here at least once a month. I never Chinese food before so everything on the menu looked so foreign. I followed Michelle’s lead and got noodles. They were delicious.

“Kid, let’s hope they have Chinese food for you wherever Fury is sending you,” Stark said over comms, and I smiled.

We finished eating at 7:45, and we still had Times Square and Central Park to go to. Times Square was chaotic, as I expected. Cars zoomed across the street, honks blaring. The multitude of digital billboards, large and bright, were flashing colors and advertisements for restaurants and movies with which I wasn’t familiar. We took a few pictures together. We walked up and down Times Square. Michelle brought us to a few shops but I was very resistant to spend any money considering that whatever I bought Fury probably wouldn’t let me keep. My friends and I, however, all bought some fudge and candy that we stuffed into Michelle’s small backpack. We shopped around until 9:00 before we hopped on a bus and ended the day in Central Park. While Central Park was still populated, it wasn’t as loud and crazy as the other locations we visited today. Michelle threw a blanket on the ground and we laid down, looking at the dark sky, just sitting there. Ned and Michelle started looking through all the photos on her camera.

“Oh! I call dibs on posting this one,” Ned said. He showed Peter, Michelle and I a picture that we took at Times Square. We were trying to take a normal photo of the four of us, smiling, but Peter cracked some stupid joke that only he and Ned understood. Michelle and I were standing in the middle with Ned and Peter on the outside, doubled over with stupid grins on their faces.

“You know what’s funny?” Michelle said. “Every time I try to post a picture with you, Wanda, the photo disappears. But if you aren’t in the photo, nothing happens.”

“Now that you mention it,” Ned said, “same. I tried adding a video of you and Peter to my story on snapchat. I thought it was hilarious but it disappeared almost a minute later.”

“Good job, Tony,” Steve said over comms.

Tony laughed. “What can I say? J.A.R.V.I.S. and I have been working overtime to make it seem like Wanda doesn’t have any friends.”

“Do you wanna take a picture by the Bethesda fountain?” Peter asked. “Like we did when you first moved here?” He pulled up the photo that Peter took the day after the football game and showed it to me. That felt like a whole different person. A person who was scared of everyone, whether there was a substantial reason or not, and a person who was trained to not trust. Now, this very different Wanda was replaced with a better one, a person who was more upset about leaving her new friends than she was thinking that Hydra found her.

“Let’s go,” I said.

“Do you guys want to come with us?” Peter said to Michelle and Ned.

“Sure,” Michelle said.

We walked to the Bethesda Foundation, which was practically deserted. Peter took a picture of me by the fountain and then joined in while Michelle took our picture. I wanted to stay in Central Park with my friends almost the entire night but at 11:00, Peter got a call from Aunt May saying that he needed to come home, so we called it a night. Michelle and Ned took a cab together to get home while Peter walked me to my apartment. He held my hand almost the entire way home, keeping the conversation flowing by peppering me with questions about LA. Steve helped answer a lot of questions, such as our new address, home phone number, the school, questions about his job. When we stopped outside the doorway of my apartment, he took both of my hands in his and looked at me in the face. “Did you have fun tonight? Michelle came up with the idea.”

“Yeah,” I said. “This was the perfect last night in Manhattan.”

“Second to last night, you mean,” Peter said. “We still have the Holiday Waltz tomorrow.”

I nodded. “Right, absolutely.”

“For tomorrow, I’ll come get you at 6:00. We’re going over to Michelle’s house for pictures and then we’re going to a restaurant in downtown Manhattan before the dance,” Peter said. “The afterparty is going to be at Liz Allen’s house. Have you met her yet?”

“Yeah, I met her once. She’s one of Michelle’s friends.” I said. Liz Allen was an honors roll cheerleader who was part of a political activist group that Michelle ran. Liz and some of her friends were in our Holiday Waltz group tomorrow. I’m sure that Tony has already investigated all of the people in our dance group and their parents. “Thank you for showing me around Manhattan. And for not scaring away too easily after what happened at the movie theater.”

Peter laughed. “Guys will do anything for pretty girls, I guess. When do you leave for LA?”

“Sunday morning,” I said.

“Promise me that I can come over Sunday to say goodbye one last time?” Peter asked.

I nodded. “That’d make me happy.”

Peter stood there for a long time before finally saying, “This is going to sound kind of random but I think we really need to have this conversation…” He looked at the ground as he asked, “Are we going to keep dating? Long distance, I mean.”

_Yes.  God, I would want that so badly._

“I don’t know,” I said. “We’re just — we just started dating, Peter.”

“I know,” Peter said. “So maybe we shouldn’t stay together once you go to LA…” My face fell with disappointment. It was stupid of me to get so attached to this one person, and I knew that breaking up now would be easier than cutting off ties with Peter when he still thinks that our relationship can continue after a leave Manhattan. As Peter kept looking at my face, a look of despair came across his. “Okay, I guess this is it…”

I shrugged. “I’m still gonna make tomorrow a great night for you,” I said, squeezing his fingers.

Peter smiled. “Wanda, spending time with you is all I need.” He leaned in and gave me a slow, intense kiss. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Maximoff.”

“See you, Parker,” I said.

I opened up the door to my apartment and took a long look around. Steve, Natasha, Sam and Sharon had been working hard the last week to pack up the apartment. It looked exactly like it had when I first came to Manhattan: the kitchen, once full with dishes and colorful artwork, was bare; all that was left in the living room was the couches and the television set. The place where the scrapbooks used to be was stored was filled with nothing but emptiness. I wasn’t sure of the condition of Steve and Natasha’s bedroom but the contents in mine was slowing being emptied. Beside some inconspicuous black leggings and a couple of sweatshirts that I would wear Saturday and Sunday, some makeup and hair appliances and other necessities, the leftover clothes and knick knacks were packed up and donated. The fake pictures of random people that S.H.I.E.L.D. agents photoshopped were now gone. I pulled out the photo of Pietro, my parents and me. I hadn’t looked at this picture since the first day I came to Manhattan. I had forgotten how painful it was to say goodbye to everyone you loved until I had to do it all over again.

There was a knock on my door, and I put the photo away. Natasha walked inside. “Did you have fun with your friends?”

“Yeah,” I said.

“Good,” Natasha said. She came to sit down beside me. “I’m really sorry about this, Wanda. I’m glad you got to live a couple of months as a normal teenager.”

“I don’t want to say goodbye, Nat,” I muttered. I took a deep breath and let a couple of tears fall.

Natasha wrapped her arms around me. “I know it’s hard, but Steve and I are always going to be here for you. Wanda, we’re not leaving your side. And I don’t give a damn if Fury wants us to.” She messed with my hair and got up. “Get to bed, Wanda. I have a lot of plans for you tomorrow. It’s not everyday I get to pamper my kid.”

I smiled. Natasha truly was like the older sister that I never had but also resembled the mother who was taken from me. When I woke up the next morning, Natasha was waiting with breakfast ready. Sharon, Sam and Steve were working on the final logistics for the move, though they had yet to tell me where I would be going (I suppose it was to keep my cover more intact). In the meantime, Tony and Natasha would be treating me to a personal spa day. Tony sat in the corner of the master bathroom, offering comic relief, while Natasha washed and touched up the roots of my hair, gave me a full manicure and pedicure, a facial and waxed my eyebrows, arms and legs. Tony cringed every time Natasha yanked a strip of fabric off of my skin, claiming that it seemed more painful than exposure to gamma radiation. Eventually, Natasha ran out of things to do before it was time to do my hair and makeup. While Natasha, Tony and I waited around, we looked through the photos that Peter, Michelle and Ned shared with me from the night before.

“These are nice,” Tony said. “You and you friends seem very close.”

“We are,” I said, sadly. I looked over at Natasha. “Is there any way that I keep some of these photos?”

Natasha bit her bottom lip. “I suppose you can keep _some_ of these photos, in a physical copy, of course. We don’t want to have any digital traces of you in the place you live.”

“I’m sure my replacement will be able to erase the digital copy of those photos _almost_ as effectively as me,” Tony said.

That caught my attention. “Your replacement?” I repeated.

Tony and Natasha took a long look at each other. Tony leaned a little closer to me and put his on my shoulder. “Not to sound self-obsessed but I tend to attract attention wherever I go. Fury can’t have that, anymore. I’m afraid that tonight will be our last night together, Wanda…”

I drew in a sharp breath. “Oh…” I knew that eventually I would say goodbye to my friends in Manhattan — that was something that I’ve always been preparing myself for — but I didn’t think that I would have to say goodbye to one of the five adults that Fury had assigned to protect me. I thought they were would be a constant in my life. Stability that I thought Fury would be okay with me having. I had a grudge against Stark Industries and against Tony. His stereotype of arrogance and selfishness was a firm truth to the people of Sokovia. I hated him without knowing him, and now that I had to say goodbye to Tony Stark, I finally realized how much I was going to miss him. “Oh…” I said again. “Um, thanks for everything, I guess.”

“It was fun while it lasted,” Tony smiled.

“I’m sure Tony will still find a way to bother us,” Natasha said.

“Do you really think J.A.R.V.I.S. and I would just leave you guys alone?” Tony said. “I’ll keep my eye on Hydra over here, even if that means doing it under Fury’s nose, again.”

“We appreciate it, Tony,” Natasha said. “Just don’t get yourself in trouble, okay?”

“I live for trouble,” Tony replied.

Natasha chuckled. “Anyway,” Natasha said. She ran her fingers through my freshly dyed hair. “What color do you think we should do next, Tony? Maybe red?”

“Auburn is a good color. Reddish orange,” Tony offered. “I can get J.A.R.V.I.S. to do some mock ups of Wanda’s new look. And we can work out new cover names, too. Elizabeth is a nice name. What do you think, Wanda? Could you picture yourself as an auburn haired Elizabeth?”

I shrugged. “I’m down to try something new.”

“We’ll have an entire plane ride to discuss your appearance _and_ your new identity,” Natasha said. She glanced at her watch. “Let’s finish getting ready.” She pulled out bucket loads of makeup, which Tony perused through, very confused. Natasha made my makeup dramatic and smoldering with brown and gold eye shadow, light contour, peachy cheeks and soft pink lipstick. Natasha curled my hair in gentle waves that cascaded down my back like a waterfall. She pinned up the top half of my hair into a thin ponytail, pulled out my bangs to frame my face and curled those as well. My appearance polished, Tony and Natasha brought me to her and Steve’s closet where she was storing the custom-made dress. When she pulled it out to see me, I was shock. The dress was absolutely stunning both on the hanger and on me. Eye-catching with its splotches of blue and magenta pink, the cap-sleeves fit on my shoulders comfortably with a deep-v neckline and the tight dress hugged and accentuated the little curves that I had. The simplicity of the shape coupled with the boldness of the color made the perfect and most breathtaking dress that I had ever seen.  Looking at myself in the mirror, I felt like I was beautiful.

“Finishing touch,” Natasha said. She put a gleaming diamond necklace on.

“Tracking device or hearing aid?” I asked.

She laughed. “Neither. It’s just a necklace.”

Sharon, Sam and Steve walked inside at the moment. “You best be careful with that,” Steve said. “It felt like it was more expensive than the rent of this apartment for a month. If you lose that, Fury will be very unhappy with you.”

Tony let out a half-fake, half-genuine sob. “God, my little girl is growing up right before my eyes.”

I laughed. “Thank you, Tony. For everything.”

“Thanks from the rest of us, too,” Steve said. “You’re invaluable.”

Tony smiled. “We need a name for ourselves. For our little group, and Clint’s included, of course. Maybe Captain America and his gang? Or something like that.”

“What about Vicious Badasses?” Sam offered.

“That’s awful,” Steve said.

“How about Avengers?” Natasha said, thoughtfully. “I mean, we’re avenging everyone that Hydra wronged.”

“Avengers. That has a good ring to it,” Tony said. “Yeah, yeah, I like that. The Avengers, led by Captain America and Black Widow, the two most feared spies in the entire underground world that is S.H.I.E.L.D., held together by a genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist.”

Steve groaned. “Let’s not ruin a semi-nice thing, Tony. Now let’s take some pictures before Peter arrives.”

We took a couple of silly pictures of the five us before Sam departed; he was supposed to be chaperoning the dance and had to get there a little bit early. Natasha would be another chaperone but the parents supervising the dance didn’t have to show up until 8:30. In the meantime, we took a few more photos, some of just Steve, Natasha and me, and the others of Tony and me. Looking at the photos, I felt the whole in my chest grow just a little more as I realized how much I was going to be miss Tony, and how much I wished Clint was here to take photos with me. The sound of a doorbell interrupted our family bonding and Steve went to go let Peter in. He looked _ravishing_ almost in his formal suit and tie, a very different attire for his normal jeans and t-shirt.

“Wow,” Peter said. “Wow, you look awesome. Your dress is…. wow.”

“You take good care of her tonight, Peter,” Steve said.

Peter smiled. “Of course, sir. I would do absolutely nothing to piss you off… or to hurt Wanda, of course. That’s really what I meant to say.”

Steve chuckled. He held out of his hand and Peter shook it. “It’s been great knowing you, Peter. I’m glad that Wanda met such a nice young man.”

“You have no idea what means to me,” Peter said. He looked at Tony. “And Mr. Stark, it was awesome getting to meet you and —.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Tony said. “You think just because Wanda is leaving, you and I aren’t going to see each other again. You know, my internship program at Stark Industries is always looking for young and intelligent applicants. Maybe it’s nepotism but I think in some situations, that’s okay. Look, tonight, be responsible with Wanda. Don’t do anything that I wouldn’t have done when I was younger — but definitely don’t do anything that I _would_ do. There’s a gray area in between and that’s where you’ll operate, okay?”

Peter raised his eyebrows. “Um, what?”

“Just ignore him. That’s what we normally do,” Natasha said. She patted Peter on the back. “I’m a chaperone tonight so this isn’t an official goodbye but, thank you for taking care of Wanda when we couldn’t.”

Peter grinned. He looked over at me. “Your family is awesome,” Peter said.

Natasha laughed. “Let’s get going,” she said to Peter and me.

Steve and Natasha drove Peter and I over to Michelle’s house. Michelle and Ned, going together as dates, pulled me into a bear hug. Aunt May greeted me in the same fashion, tearfully saying goodbye and reluctant to let me go. She used Peter’s camera to take a multitude of pictures with Steve and Natasha. My friends and I messed around and laughed together as the cameras continued snapping. Peter and I exchanged the corsage and boutonniere and we were quickly ushered off to the limo that blared music and took us to dinner. Families and adults passed by our dinner table, called all the girls beautiful and all the boys dashing. Compliments. Photographs. Then came the dance. It was in the gym at the high school. All the lights were dim. A disco hung from the ceiling. Colored lights were flashing across the walls. A DJ was in the front, shaking his head back and forth to the beat. Food was lined up against the wall where chaperones stood, including Natasha, that I saw almost immediately when we arrived, watching.  Flash Thompson was stumbling about the floor, dancing with Gwen Stacy, his tutor. She was very sweet and, though I never quite understood why she put up with Flash, I admired her ability to rein him in whenever necessary.  Students were bobbing up and down, or dancing full out, depending on their personality and comfort zone. Loud music. Loud people. Very crowded. An environment that I would have once avoided at all costs but now was embracing with complete excitement.

Everyone in my and Peter’s dance group huddled together in a circle on the gym, laughing as people took individual turns standing in the center, showing off.  Peter was surprisingly agile and good at dancing, showing up everyone around him. I didn’t like the idea of bringing that much attention to myself by going in the center of the circle but getting to let loose and spend time with Peter was exactly what I needed to make these last six months _everything_ that I had always wanted. That entire evening before the dance was filled with nothing but happiness, a warm fuzzy feeling in my chest. No flashbacks. Nothing to remind me of my past. Peace in my time.

Slow dance music came on. I was worried about this. Steve tried to explain a little about dancing but he was painfully bad at it, so that it didn’t help much. Peter was as equally awkward as me, something for which I was very thankful. He put his arms around my waist and I put mine around his neck. I _think_ that was the right way to do. It was awkward and publicly close. But, honestly, no one really cared that Peter and I were slow dancing and probably doing a bad job at it. No one here thought of anything about me other than the fact that I was the girl who beat up Flash Thompson. That’s all I was known for. No extra baggage.

“Are you sure we’re doing this right?” Peter asked, looking around.

“It’s close enough,” I said.

“You look beautiful tonight, Wanda,” Peter complimented. “Jeez, I can’t believe this is the last night we’re going to spend together.”

“It’s even harder to believe that you and I have only known each other for a few months yet I feel like I’m saying goodbye to a lifelong friend,” I said.

“Oh, friend-zoned,” Peter joked. “Wanda, I’ve had a pretty rough couple of years so thanks for letting me know that there are people with more issues than me.”

I rolled my eyes. “Thanks for that.”

“I’m kidding. But seriously Wanda, I can actually say that my junior year, with all the god-awful SAT prep classes and the realization that cheapest college I’m interested in is a million times more expensive than I can actually afford, this has the best year out of all of my public education career. And it’s all because of the relationships that I’ve built this year. With Aunt May. You. Myself. So thanks for giving me a great year.”

I smiled. “You have no idea what you’ve done for me Peter. This is the shortest that I’ve lived at any place but this is still one of the best homes that I’ve ever had.” There was a pause and the slow dance stopped, replaced with loud music. “Do you get out of here? Go somewhere a little quieter where we can talk?”

Peter’s eyes widened. “Dr. Banner always forgets to lock his classroom!” Peter grabbed a hold of my hand and we scurried to our biology classroom, deserted and in the dark. We looked around and laughed uncomfortably. Peter took my hand in his and began planting kisses everywhere on me. “Do you think Natasha would be mad if they caught us?” Peter said in between kissing my cheeks and neck. His lips were hot and his fingers were burning against my skin.

I laughed but didn’t say anything – god, he had no idea what my parents had seen. “We talked about this. Don’t bring up our parents, Peter.” I kissed him back, more passionately.

He lifted me onto the lab counter as though I weighed nothing to him. He was practically attacking me as he continued to massage the nape of my neck with his lips. “How do you think Dr. Banner is going to react if he finds out what we’re doing on his lab stations?”

“Peter,” I moaned, both from the exasperation of him talking and the intense heat between the two of us. “Stop – talking. You’re – ahhh,” I yelped. I practically kicked Peter off of me as something sharp and painful erupted in my eardrum. It was like someone was scratching a metal disc over and over again over comms. I ripped the little computer piece that was placed ever so delicately in my ear out and threw it onto the counter.

Peter backed away. “What? Did I hurt you? Did I – what the hell is that?” he asked, looking at the comms. “Is that – is that a hearing aid?”

 _Shit!_ “Um, uh, uh, yeah, it is. I’m partially deaf in one ear…” Wow. I was painfully bad at lying. But why did it go haywire all of a sudden?

“What is that?” Peter asked.

“I don’t–…” I didn’t finished. I put the comms back in and ignored Peter’s utter confusion.

“Wanda?!” Came Steve’s voice, very clear over comms. “Wanda, our comms are malfunctioning right now. Where are you?”

“Room 212,” I said.

“Who are you talking to right now?” Peter asked in disbelief. He took a couple steps back. “Wanda, what is going on?”

“Don’t worry about it,” I whispered, and it was true. I took Peter’s hands and pulled him closer. “This is our last night together, Peter. Please, let’s just enjoy–…”

“Oh, did Scarlet get a boyfriend?” sneered a terrifying, blood curdling voice. I broke apart from Peter’s grasp and snapped my head toward the door. Brock Rumlow was sauntering toward us. Behind him were three Hydra agents, the insignia of their mob branded clearly on their clothes. My mind went blank, the ability to comprehend anything ceasing as Rumlow advanced toward Peter and me. It wasn’t just that he found me. It was that he saw me with Peter. “I hear it’s Wanda Maximoff now. Way to pick an American name that blends it. Brown hair, brown eyes. Boring but I get why you picked it. I liked you better as a blonde, though.”

“You — you’re the man that I saw at the science fair…” Peter looked back and forth between Rumlow and then me. “Wanda, what the hell is he talking about? Who is Scarlet?”

Rumlow laughed, a loud, echoey and terrifying laugh. “Peter, right? Peter Parker?” Rumlow turned to look at me. “How much did your girlfriend tell you about her?”

“How do you know my name?” Peter said. His voice was even, despite how I could feel him trembling behind me.

Rumlow snickered. “Hydra is everywhere, _Wanda_. You and your handlers did a pretty good job getting us off your tail. We almost thought we weren’t going to find you. Of course, a few fucks up and a couple photos later, and we’ve got our gal. You thought Tony Stark could throw us off with a few fake photos of you in Arizona? How fucking stupid do you think we are?!” He took a step closer to us, and we took an inadvertent step backwards. Though there were still a few feet and desks between us, I felt like Rumlow was breathing down my neck. He pulled out a gun; Peter nearly stumbled backwards. “You two are coming with us.”

I shielded Peter with my body, my hands grasping onto him for dear life. “Please,” I said, choking on a sob, “h-he doesn’t know anything. You – you can take me. I won’t fight. I won’t let – he doesn’t know anything. Don’t hurt him.”

“Aw, did Wanda Maximoff find a new person to love and lose?” Rumlow said. “There are no prisoners Hydra. Only order. And with order comes–”

 _CRACK!_ The door to the classroom splintered against the wall. Natasha burst forward and in the same instant the Hydra agent closest to the door went down, convulsing. She launched herself forward. Grabbing hold of one man, she kicked a second and flipped the first one back onto the ground. In that same instant, Steve and Sam came bursting through the door. Sam body slammed the last Hydra agent as Steve ran to Rumlow. Seizing the opportunity, I grabbed Peter’s shoulder and flung him under the nearest desk. Lifting up the bottom of my dress, I pulled out my sidearm.

“What the shit? Are you kidding me?” Peter exclaimed, practically throwing himself against the edge of the desk. “What is going on?” Peter looked over the side of the table just as Steve flipped Rumlow onto his back. “Who the hell are you people?”

“I can’t explain now. We have to–…”

The sound of guns erupted. I threw myself over Peter, hearing him bang against the side of the metal desk.  Meanwhile, Sam used the Hydra agent he was fighting as a body shield and Steve grabbed hold of Natasha and threw them to the ground. Standing in the doorway, towering over the Hydra agents, the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents and Peter and I cowering under the desk, was a man dressed in all black with a thick vest on his chest and holsters running all across his body. Long gangly hair covered the sides of his face while a mask over his mouth and nose and blacked out goggles over his eyes covered the rest. The only part of his appearance that wasn’t black was his arm – his _metal_ arm with the red Hydra logo on where his forearm should be. The Winter Soldier. The hitman that Natasha was talking about.

Natasha and Steve didn’t waste a second. Natasha kicked a desk forward directly into the new Hydra agent, and while the Winter Soldier sidestepped before he could knocked over, Natasha threw a Widow’s Bite. It hit the metal arm. He convulsed for a second but tore the stinger out of his arm. Natasha leapt forward, wrapped her legs around the Winter Soldier’s shoulders and then pulled a metal wire around his neck. After struggling for a seconds, and Steve and Rumlow exchanging blows back and forth, the Winter Soldier threw Natasha off of him. Steve kicked Rumlow aside and charged after Hydra’s best assassin. Steve was no match and was quickly tossed aside.  Natasha pulled out her sidearm and there was an echoing bang. Disgruntled, the Winter Soldier tossed the goggles aside, one of the lenses shattered. “You!” The Winter Soldier growled, grabbing hold of Rumlow. “Get the target!” He thrust Rumlow toward me.

“Not today,” Steve muttered. He caught Rumlow and pushed him backwards. “Natasha, get them out of here!” Steve turned his attention back to their Winter Soldier. Watching them fight was like watching a dance. It was elegant and complicated, an art form.  One of the Winter Soldier’s guns jammed and so he reached for another sidearm in his holster. Steve threw it aside. The Winter Soldier directed another sidearm at Steve, but he kicked it away. When the Winter Soldier ran out of guns, he pulled out a knife. Every slash he made, Steve blocked it or dodged it and then matched it with a punch or a kick. And then Steve got the upper hand. He twisted the Hydra agent around, punched him, jabbed him and then flipped him over. The Winter Soldier came crumbling onto a desk and slowly got up, the mask and goggles completely fallen off.  Slowly, the Winter Soldier got up, his face tense and his eyes narrowed. He had a roundish face with light stubbly facial hair and light green eyes that were piercing. Steve stopped short in his tracks, his brows furrowed. “Bucky?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm extremely excited for the next chapter since it FINALLY goes into detail about Steve's backstory!
> 
> As always, thanks for reading:)


	19. Steve Rogers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the wake of seeing Bucky Barnes at Manhattan Academy, Steve recounts his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the positive feedback about last chapter! 
> 
> This was one of the chapters that I enjoyed the writing the most because I finally got to explore Steve's relationship with Peggy and Bucky, as well as how he was introduced to S.H.I.E.L.D.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't know anyone in the army so I mostly did research and then improvised a little on certain aspects to fit the storyline. Also, this is not meant to be a political statement on the war of Afghanistan.

Chapter Nineteen: Steve Rogers

~ April 2009 ~

“This is absolute shit!” Dum Dum Dugan exclaimed. He spit out one of the new MREs that was shipped to our base in Afghanistan onto the dirt ground. His face was beat red with unhappiness, blending in with the orange tufts of facial hair that everyone on our team thought made him look like an orange tabby.  “God, when the fuck are we going to get out of this tour and go back home for some real food?” He gulped down a load of water.

“We’re almost there,” I reminded calmly.

My men murmured something together. They ate their food, pushing each other around, laughing jovially. Nights like this where everyone felt like it would be okay were rare. I took them as a true miracle and blessing. Our base used to feel more like a home or community but now, after years of war that eroded our hopes, it sometimes felt like a constant reminder that this Afghanistan war was never ending. Tents were torn. Guns were being fixed and brought about all the time. Men were coming and going and sometimes never coming back. My unit, with the silly Howling Commandos name, was the only thing that made me feel like this place was a home away from home. Right now, my men and I were about to wrap up our tour. Exhausted eyes and bodies were a norm. Good night sleep without a night terror was rare. Being with my friends, with Bucky, helped preserve my already weary patience.

It was dinnertime. I was in a massive, dusty tent, sitting at an equally uncomfortable plastic table. The chairs were rough, but sitting was a luxury that I was ready to embrace. Around me, the Howling Commandos were grumbling about the food and the cool weather. These were some tough men, who have seen more horrors than I’d like to admit (or relive). Dum Dum Dugan with his trademark bowler hat that he always had on, even under his army helmet; the dark-skinned Gabe Jones who held back a drink like no one else in the army; Montgomery Falsworth, thick accent and all; Jim Morita, a man of Japanese descent who was true to himself and his culture; and Jacques Dernier, filled with few English words but could rattle off in French for hours. Finally Bucky Barnes. My friend. My brother. Someone I’d die for. Someone who would do the same for me. If I doubted my decision to be a part of the army, being with someone as brave as Bucky reignited my passion for this job.

“Shut up, Dum Dum,” Gabe spat. “This is the best that we’ve got.” Dum Dum and Jones went back and forth. This could have gone on for hours.

“Listen to these guys,” Bucky whispered. “Some good men but goddamn they sometimes don’t know when to take what they’ve got and enjoy it…” He looked down at his own meal that he was pushing around with a fork. He took a large gulp of water and said, “I have to admit this is nothing like Ma’s food, though.”

“Of course not,” I said.

“Or Peggy’s,” Bucky said. He moaned.  “Just thinking about Ma’s chili cheese dogs and whatever London shit Peggy makes… How long do we have until we can go home again?”

“Not too long,” I said. “How’s your girlfriend? What’s her name, again? Rachel?”

“Dorothy,” Bucky said. “Rachel was the last one.”

“Right,” I said. “I forgot. You go through so many of them.”

“Now, now,” Bucky exclaimed. “Not everyone is lucky enough to get themselves a Peggy. How’s she doing, anyway? You talk to her recently?”

I nodded. “She’s good,” I said. Thinking of her, I felt my stomach twist together.  I met her right before my first tour in Afghanistan. We married when I got back home, but even while stationed on my first tour, I knew she was the woman with whom I wanted to spend the rest of my life. She was patient, and she was always ready to take care of me in case anything happened while I was away. All my family was dead; Peggy was all I had.  Without my parents, Peggy was the only person that gave me the motivation behind picking up a gun everyday and fighting my way to survival. “She found a little apartment up in Brooklyn.  She now works at the Museum of Modern Art.  Bit of a drive but she's happy there.  I can’t wait to see her again, Buck. She’s been telling me all about the layout of the apartment, and all about the parties we’re going to have together. I better see you and your sister there for dinner some time. And whatever girlfriend you’ll have at the time.”

Bucky snorted. “Great. I’m already roped into spending more time with you.”  

I punched Bucky in the arm, and he filled the air with his loud, echoey laugh.  Bucky Barnes was always a simple man: get what you earned, fight for what you want.  Zero tolerance policy for taking the easy way out.  Called everyone who did that a weak-souled human being.  I met him back in grade school when I was changing out of some dirty clothes in the locker room and Bucky walked in on accident. After cracking a few jokes about me and then knocking over a kid who tried to take my clothes, we were inseparable.  As we grew older, Bucky grew more popular, pursuing a strong interest in football and girls.  But no matter how many girls fought for him in high school or how many times the popular football jocks called him over to sit with them at lunch, he chose me.  He stuck by my side.  To the end of the line.  Bucky had a promising future.  D1 schools were practically begging for him to commit for sports but his heart and mind were set on the army.  Army strong.  The slogan caught his attention, the feeling of protecting finalizing his decision.

“You love coming over to my place. Admit it,” I said.

Bucky chuckled. “Nothing beats Peggy’s hospitality.  And how damn close the grocery store is to your apartment.  Endless beers and endless happiness.  Promise me that when we get back, after we say hello to my parents, we’re going to go to your place, spend a shit ton of money that we don't have on beer, and catch up on the old Yankees games.”

“It’s a deal, pal,” I said, patting Bucky’s back with vigor.

We made a lot of these future plans.  Bucky was gonna be my godfather, even though kids were still a part of the distant future. Once we get out of the army, we were going to blow our money on Yankee’s tickets every home game.  We were going to visit Bucky’s parents, go to a carnival, smoke a cigar together, get wasted in a bunch of New York bars.  Plans and plans. Maybe we kept making plans as a way to fool ourselves that coming home would be easy.

It was a long and cold night.  Bucky and I shared our own place, with a small TV stationed in the corner and comfortable cots, one for each us.  While I passed the time drawing in my journal and reading up on tourist sights in Italy (I wanted to take Peggy there for a vacation after I get back from my tour), Bucky flicked through the DVDs in our small cabinet.  A wide variety of DVDs to choose from, Bucky went with a classic: _When Harry Met Sally._  Bucky found the movie tastefully romantic without being corny and disenchanting.  He played the volume loud to help drown out the cries and distant bombs.  When it was time for bed, we sat there in silence, pretending to be asleep but knowing that neither of us could.  

As part of the counterinsurgency in Northern Afghanistan, the Howling Commandos were supposed to deploy tomorrow to a Taliban-ran village to find some weapons of mass destruction.  With little success and a multitude of civilian casualties that still haunted my eyes, sometimes sleeping at night wasn’t always easy.  Knowing that Bucky was by my side the entire way helped.  On nights like tonight, with what felt like the weight of the world threatening to pull us under, having a close friend, having someone that can relate to you, means everything.  Bucky made being in the army helluva lot easier.

The next morning was extremely bleak. The sky was gloomy and our classified operation report even gloomier.  High threat level.  Lots of civilians in our path.  LZ would be a hot field for guns.  Bucky and I sat on our beds in silence, dressing and prepping ourselves both emotionally and physically.  Carrying a gun wasn’t just hard on our shoulders and backs.  We’ve been in the army for over ten years.  We’ve seen a lot of heard.  Done a lot.  Regretted a lot. When I first joined the army, young and optimistic, I had an easy time identifying the good from the bad.  Terrorists, people who threatened citizens.  Non-americans. As years past, I started realizing that it wasn’t that simple.  I did some nasty stuff on my active duty years.  Missions gone wrong, civilians getting in the line of fire. Sometimes I have a hard distinguishing the good from bad.  Sometimes I’m the bad guy. Sometimes I’m both.  War has a done a lot to me, but taking away my ability to see purity and goodness in myself was so far the worst casualty.  Selfish as it is, I miss that aspect of myself. But I would never turn my back on my job.  I would never leave the army because, beyond Peggy, it was all I had.

Bucky pressed his hand on my shoulder. “You ready?”

I shrugged. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Come on, ladies, let’s pick up the pace!” Dum Dum came echoing from his tent.

Following him were the rest of the Commandos, stomping their feet, hands grasping their weapon of choice.  We got into the convoy, Jones taking the driver’s seat as usual while Bucky and I sat in the back together.  I went over the operation plan: divide and conquer. Today was supposed to be a simple mission: WMDs were reported to be passing by a small village right outside of Kunduz on a Taliban-ran railway network.  Our task was straightforward.  Get the WMDs or confirm the lack thereof to make sure that the weapons don’t get in the wrong hands. Clean cut, get in, get out.  We’ve done it a million times with no trouble at all.  This wouldn’t be any different. We would split up in pairs and investigate different sections of the train as quietly and as quickly as possible.  We wouldn’t engage with any Taliban unless absolutely necessary. Bucky and I, of course, would be paired together. Dum Dum and Jones. Falsworth, Morita and Dernier.  

We ditched the convoy on top of a small cliff, one that was directly above where the railroad would be.  The railroad, placed precariously on the edge of another cliff, was right above a small village.  A far drop to that small village, may I add.  Going from one utility pole to another, cables ran right above the train.  We would use the cables to propel ourselves onto the train. We’ve practiced it before so we were sure the cables would hold, but it had to be timed perfectly. A mathematician of sorts, Dernier took it upon himself to calculate when exactly we would jump onto the moving train.  Dangerous and reckless.  I looked at my men and repeated our mantra, “Protect the people. Move quickly. Move quietly. Stay together. Army strong.”

“Army strong,” my men repeated back.

Bucky and I got next to the cable. “Remember when I made you ride all those miserable roller coasters at Coney Island?”

I chuckled. “Yeah. I threw up in front of a pretty girl.”

“This isn’t payback is it?” Bucky said.

“Now why would I do that?” I said, smiling.

I could hear the train rapidly approaching now, the sound of a horn blaring and the wheels churning as the train sped across the railroad at an immense pace. Falsworth, completely focused, looked at Bucky and I. Counting down from three, Dernier yelled, “ _Maintenant_.” I went first, not holding back, putting all my concentration into making this jump successfully.  Wind whipped against my face.  It was exhilarating and terrifying all at the same time.  I landed cleanly and quietly onto the top of the train; Bucky and the others followed shortly. Shaken up, my men gathered themselves and waited for further instructions. Silently, I told them where to go: Bucky and I to the front; Dum Dum and Jones take the middle section; the rest in the back.  Bucky and I practically tiptoed our way across the top of the train, which was moving so fast that I was amazed we didn’t lose our balance and fall to our deaths. Using the emergency exits, Bucky and I slinked our way inside the first compartment.

Completely silent and dimly-lit, I could see the vague outline of Bucky and a few other shapes, either cabinets or bunkbeds.  Hard to tell.  I grabbed onto Bucky and pressed a finger to my lips.  Something didn’t sit right.  I pulled my gun out, Bucky following my example, and flashed it around as I approached the shapes cautiously.  I opened up one of the boxes: ammunition for machine guns.  No chemical or nuclear weapons.  We kept looking.

“It doesn’t look like there’s anything here, Cap,” Bucky said.  Even in times of extreme danger, Bucky couldn’t help but poke fun at me.  “Let’s get to the next—…”

I heard the small sound of metal creaking on the ground.  Though it was quiet and seemingly innocuous to an ordinary person, years of military training and paranoia suggested otherwise.  I grabbed the closest box and kicked it toward that sound. Bucky, who recognized the sound of grenade in the same instant that I did, grabbed hold of me and threw both of us behind a shelving system. _BANG!_ A deafening noise filled the compartment. Behind the ringing and the chaos, I could hear the sound of a cry.  Something painful lodged itself in my upper thigh: a piece of shrapnel. Woozily, I assessed the damage. It wasn’t anything serious.  A little bit of a blood.  Bucky.  I needed to make sure that Bucky was okay.

“Steve,” he cried. “Steve, my arm!”

I looked at him.  Something very long and metallic was edge in the upper part of his left arm.  Blood was seeping freely from his wound, coating the floor and his uniform. “Fuck!” I yelled as I heard the sound of footsteps approaching.   _Find cover,_ I told myself.  I took Bucky into a enclosed corner where I knew nobody could sneak up on us from behind.  We stayed behind a shelf; it wasn’t much cover but it was something. I kept Bucky behind me, but he was still blindly waving his gun.  I heard scuffling and a cough to my left.  We open-fired.  A few yelps and a dead Taliban fell in front of us.  “Fuck!” I yelled again.  “They know we’re here! Stay alive!” I shouted over comms.  Nothing followed, hopefully because my men were still trying to stay unnoticed.  I tried my hardest to keep myself from even blinking; I could feel Bucky’s blood on my own clothes.  “You apply pressure on that wound, Bucky.  I can fight! You are not going down because that!”

“Steve, you can’t—,” Bucky said, hoarsely.

“I’m still your commanding officer and that is a goddamn order,” I said.  I heard a large breath in and I open fired.  Another dead man.  “Let me do the—…”

 _Boom, boom, boom!_ Guns erupted out of the blue.  With his good arm, Bucky hoisted him and me to the ground.  “Close your eyes!” I shouted.  I unpinned and tossed a flash grenade.  I kept my eyes and turned my head away.  Still, my eyes stung afterwards, but it was nothing compared to the Taliban men in front of us.  Covered from head to toe, I couldn’t even see their goddamn faces as they stumbled around. That made it easier sometimes.  Even though I was killing an enemy, they were still people.  I shot who I saw and who I didn’t catch in time, shot back.  Bullets flew around Bucky and me; I made sure to keep most of Bucky shielded with my own body. Behind me, Bucky fired a round.  “Keep pressure on that wound!”  

“Let’s just get the hell out of here first,” Bucky said.  

He was right.  The exit was right next to us. Only two Taliban left.  I got the one on the right, Bucky took the other one.  Moving up quietly, using the darkness and my stealthiness to my advantage, I got closer and killed the Taliban before he had time to aim.  Bucky was having a hard time aiming with his wounded arm.  I took one of the ammunition boxes and pushed it toward the Taliban.  Dodging it quickly but still distracted, Bucky shot him.  “I had him on the ropes,” Bucky muttered.  

“I know you did,” I said. “Let me see that.”

“It’s nothing, Stevie,” Bucky said.  Another childhood nickname.  But it wasn’t nothing. I was no doctor but taking a long look at Bucky’s arm, I knew right off the bat that it would take more than just some stitches to patch Bucky up with a piece of shrapnel that big in his arm that deep.  Not to mention the amount of blood that he had lost.  

“Jesus Christ, Bucky,” I gasped.  “You can’t — GET DOWN!”

I threw Bucky to the side as another Taliban emerged from the darkness.  His gun went off.  I felt something sharp and painful hit my shoulder and chest.  I crumbled.  A man was standing above me.  His face was covered but his eyes, dark brown, nearly black, with nothing but pure hatred, burned itself into my memory.  He looked over me, a gun at my head. I didn’t care if I died, but Bucky had to get out.  I waited for the sound of a gun to go off followed by then nothingness, but no.  It didn’t happen.  All I heard was a loud thud and something crashing against the side of the train.  Then wind howling in the background.  I rolled over and opened my eyes.  Bucky, blood coating his body,  was fighting and tussling with the Taliban for his gun.  Even with just one good arm, Bucky was powerful.  I had to help me. Save Bucky. I scrambled to my feet and grabbed my gun.

But it was too late.

Bucky’s haunting, echoing scream filled my ears. I reached the edge of the train just in time to see my best friend go spiraling toward the ground, the Taliban that Bucky attacked to save my life tumbling right beside him.  

* * *

~ PRESENT DAY ~

I just stood there in the middle of the science lab.  Muscles weak, head heavy, the one objective of tonight — keeping Wanda safe — out of my head.  It was impossible. Utterly, completely _impossible_.  Bucky Barnes died that day in April.  On the train. He fell.  He crashed.  No one could find his body… just his blood.  Everyone just thought an animal smelled him and dragged him away to finish him and the Taliban off. There’s no way…

“Bucky?” I said. It was a mistake.  The man looked confused and then very quickly his face went hard again.  A gun flashed before my eyes.  A flash of light followed and then Bucky — _the Winter Soldier_  step sided, a Widow’s Bite hitting the doorway behind him.  The Winter Soldier disappeared past the doors.  I looked back at Natasha, her face bringing me back to reality.  Wanda. Hydra.  Rumlow.  “Nat, get Wanda and Peter out of here!  Tell the others I’m in pursuit!”  I didn’t wait for her to respond.  I was out of the door, tearing down the hallway. I could see the Winter Soldier barreling toward the emergency exit on the third floor to the rooftop.  Fast, consistent pace.  Controlled breathing.  Light footsteps.  I kicked the door to the emergency exit open.  Fresh cool air pressed against my exerted face.  Bucky — _the Winter Soldier_ was fast.  He was nearly at the edge of the rooftop.  “Stop! Bucky!” I shouted.

The man turned.  Bucky?  The Winter Soldier?  “Steve?” The man replied.  It was like my heart was bursting at the sound of his voice.  I knew that voice.  I sang the Star-Spangled Banner with him at every basketball game in high school.  We prayed together almost every night during our first tour.  He was the voice that talked me out of bad flashbacks or nightmares.  Bucky Barnes.  My best friend.  

Frozen where I stood, Bucky leapt off the side of the roof. “Bucky!” I shouted.  I ran to the edge, but he was already successfully off the roof and was racing away.  Gone.  

“Steve?!” The door behind me was thrust open.  Sam was rapidly approaching me, a gash on his cheek and his suit a little dirty but otherwise fine.  He looked over the edge of the building and back at me. “Steve, what’s going on? Nat said… Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Sam exclaimed.  My knees were buckling.  He caught hold of me and eased me to the ground of the rooftop.  “Easy, Captain.  Deep breathe, deep breathe.”

Fuck breathing.  Bucky was alive… he was…

“Jesus Steve, you’re freezing,” Sam said.  He pressed his fingers against the inside of my wrist and on my neck.  He was counting my pulse out loud.  “220.  Shit.” He looked at his watch and timed my pulse again. “Fuck.” He looked at my eyes, felt my forehead, and then checked my pulse again. “Fuck, fuck, fuck…” He pulled out his phone and dialed something.  Or maybe he was just using comms.  I couldn’t tell.  The world around me was spinning.  “We need to get him to a hospital!”

Hospital.  I hate those places.  Everytime I go there something was wrong.  Peggy’s diagnosis.  Peggy’s death.  A replenishment of antidepressants.  Looking over old scars. After Sam’s pararescue team came to gather my men and me, I woke up three days later from a coma.  Two gunshot wounds.  Shrapnel in my leg.  Broken bones.  Pain.  Pain.  Pain.  The ground was slipping from my feet.  I didn’t know who I was or why I was here.  All I remembered was the agonizing pain of knowing that my friend was dead.  Sam was still trying to speak to me but I couldn’t listen.  I wanted to throw myself off the roof — not suicide. No.  But Bucky was below.  I needed to get Bucky.  It wasn’t right.  

“Easy, Steve,” Sam whispered. He kept a firm hand on my shoulder.  “Lay down, Steve.  Don’t you put your head up.” Orders.  I can follow orders with no problem.  They were comforting.  I did what I was told to do.  “Good job.  It’s going to be okay, Steve.”

“Bucky,” I said.

“No, no,” Sam said.  “Listen to my voice, Steve. It’s going to be okay.  You’re safe. Wanda is safe.  Sharon, Natasha and Tony are there with her.  It’s just you and me.”

Sam kept kneeling above, whispering words, telling me things that I had a hard time comprehending.  I tried to listen to what Sam was saying.  Focus on Wanda. Focus on the mission.  Recover fast. Wanda needs you.  I tried to get up; I had to get to Wanda.  Sam wouldn’t allow it.  He kept me laying on the ground.  When I thought I was close to passing out, I heard the door open again and Sam got up.  “It’s okay, Steve.  It’s some S.H.I.E.L.D. paramedics.”

“Captain Rogers?” came Helen Cho’s soft voice.  “What happened to him?”

“Saw an old friend.  Crumbled to the ground a second later,” Sam said.  “I was thinking shock.  We need to treat him fast.”

Helen Cho knelt by my side.  I only met her a couple of times.  She was the person who did my physical when Fury first recruited me.  Why was she here? Sam helped the paramedics pull me onto a stretcher.  They put a mask over my head to help me breathe.  Sam was by my side the entire way that they were escorting me into the elevator.  Sam didn’t leave my side.  Like Bucky promised to never leave my side. Bucky.  Bucky…

* * *

~ November 2009 ~

“Steve?  Steve, honey, I have breakfast ready,” a soothing voice whispered in my ear.  I was lying in bed, half-asleep, half-reliving old nightmares.  Peggy Carter was sitting at the edge of my bed, already dressed in a floral dress that made her look beautiful and red lipstick, my favorite color on her.  Her eyes gentle as she stared down at me, shirtless and exhausted, Peggy was the most patient and perfect gift that I felt like I didn’t deserve.  “Come on,” she urged.  She put a soft hand on my stomach, fingers brushing over the rough scars I got from the war in Afghanistan.  Her other hand snaked its way behind my back as she helped me lean up. “Come on.  Let’s go eat. And then afterwards we go on that walk.”

Peggy was an angel.  She put up with all of my issues after coming back from the war. I rolled out of bed with her help, my eyes glancing at the Honorable Discharge sign that underneath a pile of bills.  Most army men hung it up.  But not me.  Not when that sign was just a mockery of my failure, of my leaving Bucky to die by himself. Things weren’t supposed to end that way. He was supposed to be our godfather for kid that Peggy and I haven’t had yet.  Yet. As if I would be ready to have kids anytime soon.  When I was supposed to end my tour, the first thing that Peggy and I planned on doing was having a kid, or at least working to get one.  But Bucky died.  I wasn’t the same when I came back.  I had my own issues, and I didn’t want those issues to bleed onto my own kids.  Peggy understood.  She always did.  When the army called to let Peggy know what happened to me, she got on a plane and was by my side.  Through the surgeries. Helped me stand up when I needed help. Watched as I went through some light physical therapy.  When my physical wounds were treated and I was sent back home, jobless and missing the person who was as important as she was, Peggy didn’t let me slip away.

We moved out of the apartment we used to live in.  It was too expensive and all the medication and casts that I needed didn’t help.  Neither did the fact that I couldn’t work just yet.  We found a cheaper place, as if any of those actually existed in New York.  We made sure to stay in Brooklyn; it was my home and Peggy thought it would help.  It was a small place but Peggy decorated it and repainted the walls.  She made it seem like home. Peggy put in hours of overtime at the Museum of Modern Art. Bills were paid.  Food was put on the table. We managed.  Peggy’s parents were of great help as well.  We refused their money but they still insisted on helping: they brought over home cooked meals, drove me to therapy, offered to pick up my medication last minute when I ran out. They met Bucky’s parents and Bucky’s sister after the Barnes’s reached out to Peggy and me.  Dinner together.  Their place.  I didn’t want to go.  I couldn’t face Bucky’s parents knowing that I was the reason Bucky was dead.

She helped me to a sit at the kitchen table. “I made an omelette and got you some medium pulp orange juice.  Your favorite,” Peggy said.  She cleared the table of a few small notebooks and the newspaper. “Steve, these will be on the kitchen table by the coffee maker,” she said, holding up the notebooks.  

“Okay,” I whispered.  

I didn’t care about either of those notebooks.  One was supposed to be for therapy.  Writing my feelings sort of bullshit.  Exposure therapy.  Group therapy. I’ve done both for quite some time.  In group therapy, it’s just one big fest of misery as we shared our old war stories because people think it’ll help.  It doesn’t. Exposure therapy requires me to visit my nightmares.  Write and explore these places that trigger severe terrors and flashbacks. Sometimes I can draw my feelings.  I drew Bucky’s face. And lots of trains.  Trains on cliffs.  Severed arms.  I try to avoid means of public transportation now.  Even buses are too much like trains and the doors on either side remind me too much of how Bucky was thrown out of a train.  I can still hear his scream.  And the other the journal was the notebook I brought along with me when I was on tour, drawing whatever I felt like drawing.  I hated that, too.  

“What are we doing today?” I asked.

“I have that doctor’s appointment in a couple hours,” Peggy said.

Right.  Another visit to the hospital, but for once it wasn’t about me.  Blood in her urine.  That’s what’s wrong with Peggy right now.  At least, that’s what I’ve overheard her telling her parents.  She doesn’t like roping me into her own medical problems because I have too many myself.  Her issues are my issues, though.  I wasn’t sure what blood in her urine meant, and I was too scared to look into it and find out.

“Do you want me to come with you?” I offered.

“You don’t have to,” Peggy said.

“But I want to.”

“Steve,” Peggy said with pursed lips.  “I know how you get around the hospital.”

I shrugged. “That’s different.  That’s my own shit that I have to deal with.  We’re talking about you right now.  You came with me to the hospital every time I had to be there.  It’s my turn now.”

I could tell she hated the idea but I wasn’t going to take no for an answer.  Peggy and I went to the hospital that day and she explained what was going on with the doctor.  A few tests later, and we were out the door.  Neither of us thought it would be anything.  Neither of us thought the doctor would ask us to come back to his office where he would express his genuine sorrow and then throw brochures at us about how to deal with kidney cancer.   

~ January 2011 ~

I was in my run-down, stingy apartment.  It had running water, a bed, a kitchen, electricity.  All that I needed.  Ugly and frugal.  Bleak and depressing.  I was sitting at my couch, looking over a big stack of bills.  So much for starting off 2011 right.  I had rent that I knew I wouldn’t be able to afford, a shit ton of Peggy’s medical bills that I still couldn’t pay off, and now I had to worry about covering my own medication. Strictly antidepressants.  The group therapy for recovering vets was paid for, but the drugs weren’t.  Fortunately, I didn’t leave the war with many physical problems. I thought it would have been easier to recover after watching my best friend fall to his death with the woman I loved by my side.  God fucking took her too.  Good treatment to an old vet, right?  Now, I was lucky enough to get a few freelance art jobs that helped pay my bills.  And if times got tough, the landlord was a pretty sweet gal. Jessica something.  In her late-forties with a dad who fought in the Vietnam War, she doubled as the landlord for this fine establishment of an apartment as well as my personal pity party.  She ignored the overdue rent that she knew I couldn’t afford.  Graciously accepted me despite my slew of personal issues last month when I came to her desperately seeking a new start away from the home where Peggy’s presence still haunted me.

Sometimes I wish I died in Afghanistan instead Bucky.  Maybe I wouldn’t have to deal with all this goddamn guilt and pain. This emptiness.  This lack of hope and inspiration and direction.  Looking at the pictures of Peggy, realizing that there was no one I could call beside Bucky’s sister, who even though I couldn’t face, I realized I was nothing.

There was a knock on my door.  Scowling, I flicked the TV off (I wasn’t really watching it, but I always found mindless noise to be comforting) and went to answer it.  I half-expected it to be one of the many neighbors who found my story heartbreaking and coming over to cook me dinner.  It wasn’t. It was a stocky African American man, who was on the elderly side.  There was something twisted and sly about his smile, and his eyes… I guess I should say  _eye_. There was only one and the other was covered with an eye patch.  Beside the eye patch, I found his outfit silly and excessive with the sweeping black coat and leather gloves.  He was dressed head to toe in black.  There was something off about this stranger.  Being an old vet, I hated strangers who didn’t quite seem right.

“Who are you?” I demanded.

The man outstretched his hand. “Nicholas J. Fury.  I’ve heard a lot about you.”

That didn’t make me feel any better about this stranger.  “I haven’t heard of you.”

“I figured you wouldn’t.” The man fished for something in his pocket, and I tensed. “Sorry, I know you’re a little weary of strangers. This should help put you at ease.”  

He showed me a metallic badge with the insignia of a silver eagle on the front. “Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division?” I read.

“S.H.I.E.L.D., as it’s better known.”

“Never heard of that, either,” I said, coolly.

“Most people don’t,” this man, Fury, said. He edged into my apartment, looked around and then raised an eyebrow.  “It’s a secret division of the CIA. We tend to focus on bigger, more upscale international threats. Counter-terrorism. Espionage."

“Spies?” I prompted.

“You could say that. Whole lot of things about the government that you don’t quite know,” Fury said. He took a seat at the kitchen table and I went to the join him; I glanced at the spice drawer in my kitchen. “No need to grab that gun of yours — and yes, I do know about that. In the spice drawer? Seems awfully dangerous.  What if a kid comes over?”

“I don’t have a lot of guests.  How the hell did you know that?” I snapped.

Fury shrugged. “I run a secret organization. I live and breathe secrets. That’s right. You just so happen to be looking at the director of S.H.I.E.L.D., Captain Rogers.”

“What are you doing here?” I said, not impressed. 

“First and foremost, I’m here to offer my condolences,” Fury said. “Both for your wife, Peggy Carter, and for James Buchanan Barnes.  Terrible what happened to those two.”

“Thank you,” I said. It was more of a formality, as opposed to a sincere sign of gratitude. “How did you know about Peggy and Bucky?” I bit the bottom of my lip.  _Don’t think about them._

“Like I said, I already know who you are,” Fury responded, calmly.  “I know you probably don’t want to talk about it with a stranger but I’ve been known to be a good confidante.  I understand that you and your team, the _Howling Commandos_ , were looking for weapons of mass destruction.”

I scoffed.  “It’s not like we fucking found any.  Once the Taliban knew where we there, they dumped everything.  We came back with scars and nothing else.” A bitter taste was still left in my mouth as I thought about the day that Bucky died.  If I had been more thorough or more careful… I should’ve clocked the enemy before he had the chance to get a few shots in me, anyway.

“The train blew up afterwards?” Fury probed.

No. How pathetically incorrect that was.  If the train blew up, I would dead.  I would dead and I wouldn’t have to live with all this fucking guilt.  The train didn’t blow up.  The train went under a tunnel and crashed into the side of the cliff.  It didn’t fall off, but it was enough to shake up my men and I. The rest of the Howling Commandos came to my rescue.  Shocked and sickened to find that Bucky was dead, I was completely useless to my men.  Their commanding officer could do nothing but sit there, eyes wide, in a catatonic state.  They had to _protect me._ Instead of me doing my job. When the train crashed, we were hopelessly outnumbered… until a pararescue team led by Sergeant Sam Wilson came to our aid.  Sam was a good guy.  We were in the same therapy group after the war.  He had a family that picked him every day.  My family died.  He got out better than I did.  I relapsed time and time again.  I was jealous of the son of the bitch, but we stayed in contact nonetheless.

“Why the fuck would I tell you?” I snapped.

Fury raised his hands defensively, “I’m just someone that’s interested in you.  And whose curious in the full story.  The mission report was pretty vague.”

“You shouldn’t have access to those mission reports.  And why are you so interested in me?” I said.

“We could always use another S.H.I.E.L.D. agent.  You seem to be a perfect candidate.”  Fury glanced around the apartment.  “Unless, of course, you have something better to do.”

“What does being a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent mean?”

Fury shrugged. “It can mean whatever you want for it to mean.  We’ll get you set up in a nice place.  It can be anywhere you want it to be.  You’ll live a normal life, but you’ll be on call.”

“On call?”

“Meaning if S.H.I.E.L.D. needs you for a job, you’ll be there.  We’ll probably give you a partner.  A steady salary.  You’ll enjoy it, Captain,” Fury said.

“A partner?”

Fury smiled. “I think I know someone that would be a good match for you. She’s Russian.  Real intense.  You’ll get along great with her.”

“And if I don’t?”

“I wouldn't worry about that.  _You will_ ,” Fury smiled. “If you’re interested, give me a call.”  He set a number on his desk in front of me as he was leaving.  “Just one more question: where did the name Captain America come from?”

I rolled my eyes.  “Peggy thought it would be funny if she sent me an Uncle Sam outfit for Halloween.  Gave Bucky something to laugh about.  Bucky gave me the nickname and it just stuck.”

“That’s nice,” Fury said. “You call that number.”

* * *

~ PRESENT DAY ~

When I woke up, I was lying in a small bed, IVs sticking out of my arms and machines beeping quietly in the background.  I looked around, immediately recognizing where I was.  In the small, barely-able-to-constitute-as-a-proper-medical-facility room in the underground base.  Beside me, Tony was sitting on a small metal chair, tapping his foot and reading through something on his computer.  Right.  Tony Stark. S.H.I.E.L.D.  I was here on a mission.  As I stirred awake, Tony closed the computer and set it down.  “Good.  You’re awake. You freaked us out a little bit, Cap.”  

“Where’s Wanda?” I demanded.

“With us,” Tony reassured.  “She’s plenty shaken up, but she’s safe. Her and her teenage boyfriend are safe…”

“Right,” I muttered. “Peter. How’s he doing?”

“He’s pretty confused. As expected.  It’s not everyday you get to see your girlfriend’s parents shoot a bunch of people and kick some serious ass,” Tony said.  “Nat’s already filled Fury in on what’s happening. Peter’s coming with you guys wherever you’re going next.  No discussion on that. He knows too much about Wanda and if Hydra ever got a hold of him… I think you know the rest of what would happen. Wanda's filling him in on _everything_ right now. Natasha’s good at making up a convincing story but this isn’t something that you can just lie your way through.”

I heard footsteps.  It was just Nat.  She looked even more worried than when I got skin grafts as Lagos. She stood next to my bed.  “You had me worried there.”

“I’m sorry… What happened?” I asked.

“You passed out, Cap. Scared the shit out of us when the S.H.I.E.L.D. paramedics brought you down here. Thank god Fury thought it would be a good idea to have a very talented doctor on standby in case Hydra shot our asset or anything like that,” Tony explained. “Shock from severe emotional trauma, at least that’s what Sam said happened.” I winced.  Severe emotional trauma from seeing a friend who I thought was dead.  Confusion.  Betrayal. Those two words weren’t strong enough to express how I felt.  “Who was he? This Winter Soldier?  What was he to you?”

“His name is James Buchanan Barnes.  He, uh, he thought his full name made him sound like a pompous ass so he went by Bucky.  He was my Clint… or my J.A.R.V.I.S., I suppose. A friend isn’t strong enough of a word.”  I looked over at Natasha, who was listening intently; she knew that a friend mine died in the army but nothing more than that.  Sam knew the most about what happened, since he lived through the same pain that I was going through.  “We were in the same unit.  Gave ourselves the stupid name of Howling Commandos.  It was stupid really.  My unit, they were always yelling and bellowing so the name just kind of stuck… Anyway, we were on our second tour together in the war in Afghanistan.  2009.  We were supposed to retrieve WMDs but the job went wrong.  Bucky threw himself off of a moving train over a cliff to stop a guy from shooting me…” I didn’t want to go into more detail.  Tony and Natasha both experienced plenty of trauma in their life to understand why.  “I thought he died.  Even if he survived the fall, the blood loss from the shrapnel ripping apart his arm should have been enough to kill him.  I don’t know how lived.  And I don’t know how Hydra got to him.”

“Are you sure it’s him?” Tony asked.

“He knew my name, and I know his voice. That was him,” I said.  I hated being so sure of myself right now.  But I didn't doubt myself.  I looked over at Natasha. “My friend shot you.  He assassinated dozens of people because I couldn't save him on that train."

“None of that’s your fault, Steve,” Natasha said. "Besides, he had the choice to come back to you, not go to Hydra." 

I ignored her. "I was his commanding officer. I made a promise to his mother that I would bring him back.  I failed,” I said, bitterly.  That was one of the reasons why I avoided the Barnes’s as much as I did.

There was a long pause and then Natasha said, “Tony, could you give Steve and me a minute alone?”

He got up.  “Yeah. I’ll go check on our two kids — or maybe our security." He left quickly.

“What’s going on?” I asked Nat.  

She sighed.  “Steve, I talked to Fury about you calling the Winter Soldier Bucky.  Fury seemed to know that this Bucky was very important to you, and so did Sam.  I understand what Barnes means to you, Steve, but please, you have to remember that the guy who fell off the train isn’t the same guy at the school tonight who tried to kill us.  If he shows up again, and given how highly Hydra thinks of him, you know he will, are you prepared to fight him?”

“I don’t really have a choice in the matter, Nat,” I said.  And that was painful truth. Beside from Peggy and maybe my folks, Bucky will always be the most important person in my life.  He was family… to the end of the line.  But maybe _this_ was the end of the line.  Hydra took a lot of me, but I never thought Hydra would take Bucky from me.  “Wanda is my priority now. Keeping her safe is the only thing that’s important to me.”  That was at least true. Wanda was my everything right now, but I still wasn’t sure how I could ever face Bucky.  Head to head.  With the expectation from Hydra and possibly from Fury that only one of us make it out alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! 
> 
> While the action in this story is quickly going to start picking up the pace, there's still about a third of the story left. Thank you to everyone who's been commenting and reviewing. It honestly means so much to me!
> 
> As always, thanks for reading!


	20. Wanda Maximoff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wanda and Peter hide from Hydra.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the next few chapters, I'll be posting warnings at the beginning of each chapter and please read them!
> 
> Warning: This chapter alludes the threat of rape/sexual assault. That being said, please read at your own discretion.

Chapter Twenty: Wanda Maximoff

The door behind Steve slammed to a close as he raced after the Winter Soldier — Steve said something about Bucky, but I didn’t know what that meant.  Judging by the look on Steve’s face, however, and even Sam’s, I could tell that this Winter Soldier, this Bucky meant something to Steve, maybe even more than what the Winter Soldier meant to Natasha.

“Get the girl,” Rumlow’s rough voice barked at the other Hydra agent.

Both Rumlow and the other Hydra agent were battered and covered with blood but extremely persistent.  Granted, Natasha and Sam were just the same.  Sam took hold of the other Hydra agent, practically twirled him around and then slammed him into Banner’s desk a couple of times. Natasha was much more graceful.  Twisting Rumlow around and severely electrocuting him with another Widow’s Bite, she casted him aside like a rag doll. Like he wasn’t some 200 pound nightmarish man. Natasha and Sam, stumbling and limping, came to my and Peter’s side.  The expression on her face made everything all the more terrifying.  She looked lost and unsure of herself.  “Wanda!” She said in a hoarse voice, grabbing my and Peter’s shoulder. “We need to go.  Now.”  She hoisted the two of us from the under the desk — my legs were shaking so badly that I nearly toppled over. “Sam, get to Steve. Help him out and haul ass back to the base." 

“M — Mr. Wilson?” Peter stammered as Sam turned around and sprinted out the doorway. His eyes were wide and his arms were shaking.  God, why did this have to happen?  Why did Peter have to be here with me right now?  “Mrs. Romanoff? Wanda?”

“We’ll explain later,” Natasha said, practically throwing us out of Dr. Banner’s classroom.  “We need to run.  The car is waiting outside.  Take your shoes off.  It’ll be easier.”  I did as she said.  Even Peter followed her instructions blindly, though he wasn’t wearing heels. I tried very hard to keep myself from looking at Peter. _Don’t think about him right now.  Get yourself safety.  Get both of you to safety._

“Wanda…” Peter gasped.

I took his hand.  “Peter, you need to come with us.”

“But—…”

“I know,” I said.  “I know you don’t understand.  And I’ll tell you everything later.”

“Wanda, we don’t have time for this!” Natasha yelled. “Peter, Peter, if you care about Wanda and if you care about your life, you’ll just follow me.”

Peter didn’t argue.  The three of us took off in a run, almost inconsiderately fast through the crowded halls of Manhattan Academy, swerving and nearly pushing over a few people.  I didn’t dare look at anyone’s faces.  If there were more Hydra agents here — please, god, let Rumlow and his goons be the only Hydra agents here — I didn’t want to risk the lives of anyone else by so much as even glancing at them.  We were out the side door in a matter of minutes, breathlessly racing toward the SUV parked illegally in the fire lane. Natasha thrust the door open and pushed Peter and me inside.  Just like the science expo, only this time much worse.  The threat being much more real, much more dangerous, especially with Peter being dragged into the middle.  Waiting in the SUV, Tony Stark was sitting in the front seat and Sharon was sitting in the backseat, blocking anyone peering in through the side window.  It was crammed in the backseat, with Sharon, Peter, myself and Natasha squished together.

“Get us out of here, Tony!” Natasha shouted, guns ablaze.  

“Where’s Steve and Sam?” Tony said, even though the car was already starting to peel around the back of the school parking lot.

“They’re coming! They — they got held up. The Winter Soldier, he was there,” Natasha panted.  “Only — it was like Steve knew him.”

“What?” Tony gasped. “What the hell does that mean?”

“I don’t—,” Natasha started.

“Wait, wait, wait, hold up!  The Winter Soldier?  Mr. Stark, why are we — why are you…” Peter gaped.  “Seriously, what the hell is going right now?”

“Now is not the time to explain!” Natasha said. She put an arm around Peter’s shoulder.  Peter, as confused as ever, thought it was meant to be an act of comfort — a hug — but Natasha quickly pressed his head down to his knees and then let go of him.  “Keep your head down and don’t look out the window.  Leave the shooting and the protecting to the three of us.  How did they even find you?  How did they know what room you were in?  It’s a miracle we even found you.”

“What do you mean?” I panted.  “Steve asked for my location, and I gave it to you.”

Natasha became even paler.  “Steve never asked for your location, Wanda.”  She let out a heavy sigh, and the panic in my throat rose.  “If Steve didn’t ask for your location than — _shit_.”

“J.A.R.V.I.S. and I will figure it out,” Tony reassured.  He didn’t sound extremely confident in himself but who cares? Anything that we could get a solid handle on, that we could _control_ , was a source of comfort.  

That was it.  All the words that any of us said the entire time that Tony peeled to the underground base.  I looked over at Peter. He looked sickened and terrified.  I could see tears in his eyes, whether it was from sheer frustration that he knew close to nothing at the moment or the fact that he was just so goddamn scared.  Shit.  This was all my fault.  I reached for Peter’s hand and touched his gently.  At first he flinched but then he eased into my grasp before he was suddenly gripping my hand and pressing his head against mine as though his life depended on it.  I guess that phrase really does apply to this situation. I put my arms around him, engulfed him, _shielded_ him with my body… Because god, I owed him my life for what he’s about to go through.

The car ride was as smooth as it could be with us peeling around the busy streets of Manhattan until —

Natasha’s phone rang, and she answered it quickly. “What?!” Natasha yelled into the receiver.I jumped and looked over at my terrified handler.  “What’s going on with him?  Okay, okay.  Did you already get — good… You fucking make sure he’s okay, Wilson.  That’s — you make sure he gets back to me, okay?!”  Oh god.  My blood went cold.  “I don’t care what it takes.  He needs to get back to the base.  Wanda needs him. Damn it, Wilson, I need him!” She slammed the phone shut, breathing heavy breathes of sheer exasperation.

“What is it?” Tony said.

Natasha shook her head.  “It’s Steve.”

“Is he…” Tony started.

“He’s — he’s not hurt, but Sam said he went into shock and he’s not looking good,” Natasha said.  “They’re bringing him to the base but — he’s down for a while.”

I couldn’t process anything that was happening around me.  Not the fact that I was just at Manhattan Academy for the last time, the last goddamn night that I was New York, and Hydra found me. What luck. And now, Peter was in this mess.  And Steve was hurt, maybe worse.   _Don’t think about right now_ , I kept telling myself.  It didn’t matter if Sam told me a million times in those stupid therapy sessions that we had that bottling anything up wasn’t good for me.  Whatever.  Right now, I had to survive, and I had to keep Peter safe in the process.  Not letting myself for one second think about all the bad things that could happen was the only thing keeping me from collapsing onto the ground.

The car came to a stop, but I didn’t care to look out the window to see if we were safely at the base. “J.A.R.V.I.S. check outside. Make sure everything is okay,” Tony whispered.  

A long period of silence and then, “It’s safe, for now.  It appears Hydra has yet to reach the base.”

Then it was a frenzy to get inside.  Natasha and Sharon tried to be gentle while throwing Peter and me inside, chaotically, panicked.  Tony was shortly behind, resetting all the security parameters that would take someone breaking in hours to crack but Steve and Sam just a couple seconds to override. We went through the hall into the brightly lit base.  It was still set up from when I was cooped up here before for the last two weeks: well-stocked with food and water, plenty of silly looking lamps in case the power gets cut, and lots and lots of guns.  When Sam started peeling off layers of his torn suit to reveal a bullet proof vest, I just realized that Natasha was already wearing her uniform.  I wasn’t sure when she changed or what happened to the dress she was wearing before, but either way, guns were at easy access; she was ready to kill anyone, I could tell by her expression. Sharon appeared a moment after Sam finished changing, holding a set of clothes for both Peter and myself. We were ushered into separate rooms where I changed into some leggings and a jacket. Inconspicuous.  Comfortable.  That’s all I needed.

I walked outside and got a clear look at Peter.  A blue Manhattan Academy sweatshirt and a pair of black joggings.  I recognized both.  The pants he wore at least once and week and the sweater I stole from him to wear a few times when we went on walks in Central Park.  I wasn’t sure how Natasha managed to get hold of some of Peter’s clothes but I didn’t care. The only thing I knew from taking just one look at Peter was, that despite wearing _his own_ clothes, he looked like a fish out of water.  Confused.  Unsure of himself.  A reflection of me when Natasha and Steve first found in Sokovia and took me to that hotel room.  He looked very pale, and his hands had yet to stop shaking.  I went to Peter’s side and wanted so desperately to hug him and never let go.  But I didn’t touch him.  I let him take in his surroundings without disturbance.  His eyes stopped on Tony’s, who looked sad and almost ashamed.  Then Natasha, but she tried to avoid eye contact, checking her phone and asking Sam about Steve’s ETA. Whatever was happening with Steve wasn’t as big of deal as it felt like in the car.  He was okay.  Passed out, but stabilized.  He was coming back.  He was coming back to be with us.  

“Peter…” Tony started, standing up and coming toward the two of us.  

Peter shied away from the man who he called his hero.  “Where am I? Why are you here? Who…” Peter turned to look at me, his eyes full of confusion and disbelief. “Who are you, Wanda? Or Scarlet? Or whatever your name is?”

It hurt, but not as much as it should have. I should’ve expected this.  Strucker said it himself. _Hydra is everywhere._ Why did Pietro and I think that we could get away? And now, after all the lying and attempts to protect myself, everything was crumbling from under my feet.  “I’m sorry,” I said. Tears welled in my eyes, a sob creeping up my throat.  “God, they weren’t supposed to find you.  And now you're a—…”

Dead man walking.  Target.  A slew of other things that Peter just became because of me.  

“Wanda,” Tony said.  He was next to me in a second, arms outstretched in a comforting sort of way.

“No, no!”  I screamed. I didn’t care how of much of a child I sounded like.  “Don’t you understand, Tony?!  They’ll kill him!”

“Who?” Peter exclaimed.  “Who’s going to kill me? Who are you people?”

A coward.  A victim.  A mess.   _A million other things that I shouldn’t have let you get involved in._  

“Wanda! Wanda!” Natasha yelled.  She was next to me, gripping onto my face tightly and forcing my gaze into her own.  “Wanda, think about Pietro.   Think about what he did for you!  Get a goddamn grip on yourself.  I know you’re scared.  I know you’re tired of running.  This is just another road block.  We’ll get past this.   _You will_ get past this because you’re stronger than this.  And you owe it to Pietro.  And to Clint.”

I took a deep breath, forcing the panic down into the lowest part of my body. Swallow your tears.  Now isn’t the time to have a full-blown panic attack.  For Pietro. For Clint.  For the people who died at the hands of the Red Skull.  And for Peter, now. I couldn’t keep being the same _kid_ who didn’t face her own problems.  Who didn’t take responsibility or action.  

“Peter,” I said.  “I’m so sorry…” That wouldn’t be enough.  That would never be enough for me to express just how awful I was as a person for getting Peter dragged into this mess.  But _I’m sorry,_ as meaningless as those two words are, would have to do for now.  “Let’s go — in here. I’ll explain everything.”  I reached for his shaky hand but he pulled away, sharp, tentatively. I bit down on my lip.   _I have no right to expect Peter to trust me anymore._ Peter stayed a couple feet behind me as I led him into the only bedroom in this base.  I closed the door behind us — I knew that no one could get in this room without going through Natasha and Sharon, and I still had the gun at easy access.  

“What is going on, Wanda?”  Peter gasped.

“Sit — please. You’ll want to be sitting,”  I said.  Peter looked around before settling onto the edge of the bed.  I pulled up a chair in front of him.   “Peter…” Where do I even start?  “Peter, I’m not who you think I am.”

“No shit,” Peter muttered, coolly.

I tried to ignore his tone. Where do I start? Where… The picture.  The only thing from my past that was actually real.  I took the picture of my family out of my jacket pocket — yes, I did take it everywhere I went — and put it in Peter’s hand.  At first, he didn’t understand why I was giving this to him.  He glanced at the photo and then did a double-take, looking at the image and then to me and then back at the image.  He flipped the photo around where my mother had scribbled the date in the upper left hand corner.  “What — what is this?” Peter asked.  “Is that you? The blonde girl in the middle?”

“Yeah,” I said, quietly.  “And those of my parents.  My real parents.  And that’s my brother, Pietro. They’re my family.”

“Huh,” Peter said, staring at the photo in disbelief.  He gave it back to me.  “What happened to them?   I mean, I know your parents died but what about your brother?  How come you never mentioned him?” Peter asked.

I bit down on my lips.  “Peter…” Just spit it out.  Fast.  Like ripping off a bandaid. “Peter, I lied to you about how my parents died.  And I lied to you about my past and whole helluva lot of other things.”  I waited to go on, waited to see Peter’s reaction.  I couldn’t get a good read on it: he looked perturbed but nonetheless patiently curious to learn about me.  The real me.  “Peter, my real name is Scarlet Lungu.  I’m not from Salem, Oregon.  I’m from Sokovia, a little place in Eastern Europe.  You probably couldn’t find it on most maps — it’s really not that big of a place. And my parents weren’t killed in an epidemic.  They were killed in a military coup.  They were shot right in front of my eyes when I was six.  Pietro was also shot, but by Hydra.”

“What’s Hydra?” Peter said.  

“Hydra’s an international terrorist/mob organization.  Pietro became a Hydra agent when he was just a teenager.  They offered good money and we were desperate. _He_ was desperate because he had to take care of his kid sister — me.”  I looked away for a second.  It was hard to keep explaining everything, to delve so deep in something that I kept so hidden.  But I had to continue — Peter deserved to know the truth. “You can judge me for everything I’m about to tell you  but please don’t judge Pietro for joining Hydra or for all the stupid things that he had to do as a Hydra agent.  He didn’t do it because he thought it was right. He did it because he felt obligated to provide for me.  He —”

“Wanda — er, Scarlet, whatever you prefer to go by — I can barely wrap my head around the fact that you were blonde with blue eyes and from Europe, let alone anything else,” Peter admitted.  “Plus, I’m pretty sure my life rests in your hands — or the hands of your scary ass family you have out there, so believe me I’m going to be keeping the judgement down to a minimum. So back to Pietro and Hydra…”

“Right. After our parents died, we lost everything: a house, stability, a family.  We went years without luxuries that a lot of people take for granted, and then Hydra offered us all of that, and more.  Pietro was recruited by someone named Baron Wolfgang von Strucker.   He was Pietro’s mentor — we thought we could trust him. He trained Pietro on Hydra’s operation. There’s different jobs that you could do as a Hydra agent: money laundering, which is normally running a legitimate business to hide an illegal operation, like underground gambling or blackmail. There’s Hydra’s kill squad. Those men that you saw tonight, Rumlow, and the one with the metal arm, the Winter Soldier, those two are on Hydra’s kill squad.  And I’m their assignment… And then the last job is buy-sell agreements. That’s what Pietro did since he was so young.  He would give someone a ton of money for something that Hydra wanted or vice versa.  Pietro kept me away from all of that unless he needed me for a cover.  On my fifteenth birthday, Pietro brought me to a futbol — er, soccer game…”  I went over the story of how Pietro left for an assignment, how I stupidly followed him, and how Strucker showed up at our home to kill me. Peter stayed quiet the entire time; I wasn’t sure if it was because he was going into shock, or he just didn’t believe me. While I thought it would be difficult for me to tell such a private part of my life, especially when it came to recounting how Pietro died at the water park, I found it surprisingly easy to get to be honest. No strings attached.  

“So, let me get this straight, your adopted parents, who aren’t actually your adopted parents, are actually spies for a government organization called S.H.I.E.L.D.?” Peter clarified.  

“Yeah, pretty much,” I said.  “And so are Sam, Sharon and Clint…”

“Which explains why Mr. Wilson kept showing up everywhere we went. And Clint? Clint, your family friend who died in a mugging, right?” Peter asked. “How could a mugger kill a — oh…”

I bit on my lip.  Another lie.  “There was this Hydra base here in New York and Clint, Natasha and Steve went there… Clint was shot and killed… He didn’t make it past his surgery that night.”  That was the first time that I really let myself _think_ about Clint’s death, let alone say how he really died out loud.  Bitterness swept across my stomach. I was so goddamn tired of being scared of Hydra.  Clint’s death and now the potential for Peter’s, I was purely angry.  Angry at Hydra.  Angry at myself.

“Oh… wow,” Peter said.

“Sharon was Clint’s replacement after he died,” I said.  “That’s why we said Sharon was Steve’s sister.  It wouldn’t have made sense why she would come with us if she was just our neighbor.  Granted, we didn’t expect you to notice.”

“To be fair, there’s a lot of other lies I didn’t notice…” Peter said.

I don’t think he meant for that comment to be so malicious, but nonetheless, it dug deep.  I shook it off.  Peter deserves to be a little bit angry, doesn’t he? “I don’t think Steve and Natasha expected you to be so perceptive…,” I said.

“So your little security detail is always around?” Peter asked.

I nodded.  “That little device I pulled out of my ear was our comms.  Tony’s always monitoring it… He helped me to come up with answers about myself, about this character I created, a lot when I first moved here.  Clint followed us a lot.  He was at the movie theater when I lost it.  And at the cafe the day after the first football game.”

“Really?” Peter asked.  “They’re like your personal stalkers.”

“That’s one way you could look at it,” I said. “They have security cameras everywhere at school and at places that I go to frequently. It’s easier that—….”

“Places like your bedroom? And my house?” Peter said.

My stomach twisted.  “Tony respects our privacy, but yes…”

Peter’s eyes went wide.  He stood up and started pacing around the floor.  “Oh, oh my god!  You mean to say that your twisted little family has been watching us when — and they have security cameras that watch Aunt May… And… oh my god, I feel so violated right now!”

“They don’t spy on your house, especially if I’m not around, and they, quite frankly, don’t care what we do. They’re trying to protect me!” I said.   _Don’t be angry_.  “You just don’t—.”

“Understand?” Peter finished.  “You’re right. I don’t understand.  And at Florida, I presume, they had security cameras there as well?”

“Yes,” I admitted.  “Rumlow was at the science expo!  You even saw him!  We didn’t know — we _still_ don’t know why Rumlow was at the science expo.  At the time, we didn’t think he was there because of me, but I guess we’re not so sure about that now.  That beach house was actually a S.H.I.E.L.D. safehouse.  All of those flight attendants and cooks, and even some people working in town, were S.H.I.E.L.D. agents assigned to protect me.  For god sakes, Sam was the pilot — that’s why he never left the captain’s den.  And he was the one running our security detail. Fury wanted me to leave the night of science expo but I insisted that we stayed, at least a little bit so that I could say goodbye… That’s why we invited you, Michelle and Ned and your families to Florida.  So that I could see all three of you and so that S.H.I.E.L.D. could make sure that Hydra didn’t go after you or—”

“Oh my god!” Peter said, standing up and nearly knocking his chair aside. His shriek made me jump. “Fuck!” He yelled again, rushing into the main room. Sharon and Sam were talking in the corner, pacing back and forth uncomfortably.  “Mr. Wilson, Wanda’s Aunt — handler, whatever, Aunt May! Michelle! Ned!  If Hydra knows about me—”

“We took care of it, Peter,” Sharon said, raising her hand.  “Your family and friends are safe.  S.H.I.E.L.D. agents are crawling over Manhattan and around here right now.”

“Oh, oh, okay,” Peter said, taking a deep breath.  “Good.  Thanks.”  He looked around, suddenly looking less angry.  His eyes stopped in Sam.  “Mr. Wilson, wow.  I liked you a lot before but I’m not going to lie to you, you just became way more of a badass.  Dude, a staff member from our school is a spy!”

Sam laughed.  “Alright, alright kid, you’ve got to stop calling me Mr. Wilson.  It’s Sam.”

“Will do sir — Sam. Sorry…” Peter said, sheepishly.  

“Is Steve here, Sam?  Is he okay?”  I asked, suddenly remembering that Sam and Steve had come together.

Sam nodded.  “He’s shaken up, badly.  That guy, the Winter Soldier, he was an old friend of Steve’s, James Barnes — Bucky was his nickname.  An old friend doesn’t even do their relationship justice.  He’s like a brother to Steve.  They enlisted together, and they were in the same unit together. One operation went wrong, and Steve thought Bucky died after Bucky threw himself on someone who was going to shoot Steve and both tumbled down a cliff… The son of a bitch didn’t die.   And now Hydra has him.”

“Helluva coincidence if you ask me,” Sharon said.  “I thought everyone Steve knew was supposed to be a stand-up person.”

“Well whatever happened, this guy’s a Hydra agent, and in deep with them, too, based off what Nat said,”  Sam said.

“You think Steve can fight this guy?” Sharon asked.

“He’s gonna have to,” Sam said, very seriously.

The two adults stared at each other for a long moment, as if forgetting that Peter and I were standing right in front of them.  I had known Sam and understood the person that Sharon was well enough to detect what they were thinking based off their expressions: _doubt_. Doubt that Steve would be able to fight this Bucky — his Bucky if he needed to.  I hated it.  I didn’t know Bucky, nor could I ever comprehend how close Steve and Bucky actually were. It was selfish of me to expect Steve to be able to place his emotional level below his actual job.  But I needed to believe that Steve would be able to protect me at all costs.  His strength  was the only thing keeping me upright at the moment.  Steve was going to be okay.  Steve would be able to fight.

He has to be able to focus.  For me.  And, most importantly, for Peter.  

“Steve will probably want to see you,”  Sam said.  He looked over at Peter.  “And you, too.”

Sam brought Peter and me to the small infirmary in the underground base. Natasha was perched on a metal chair, holding one of Steve’s hands, still very pale with lots of a worry plastered on her face. The bruises on Steve’s face were starting to form around his cheek; a very red, splotchy wound marred his once very clean face, near his left eye. But it wasn’t necessarily the physical wounds that seemed the worst. It was the expression in his eyes — really the absence of expression. Steve looked empty, blank, like Hydra robbed all the happiness and hope that he had left right from his body.  With one man. One man that Steve was going to have to fight.  

“Wow,” Peter said as he went to stand beside Steve’s bed.  “And here I thought you were strongest man in the world.”

Steve let out a breathy chuckle.  It didn’t seem like much of a laugh, but maybe that was all he could muster right now.  “I had him on the ropes…”  Steve looked away, as though even those words were too painful for him to say.  

“We heard from Fury,” Natasha said. “We’ve got passports, a new social security number, a new home, everything for the four of us. Have you two ever been to Germany before?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Peter exclaimed. “What do you mean by _you two_?”

Natasha sighed.  “Peter, did you really expect the director of a very secret international spy organization to let you just go home after everything that’s happened to you tonight?”

“Wait a second, I can’t go to Germany.  I — I have homework, and I have AP tests coming up.  And the results for the science fair are supposed to be coming back soon. And college — I have college.  I have a life here.  I’m not going to tell anyone about Wanda!” Peter said. This was the hardest part for me when I left Sokovia.  Even with the bad memories and the deaths, a part of me still wanted to stay, and it was gut wrenching to have to leave.

“Really?  Even when Hydra is waterboarding you for information after they find you still here like some dumbass kid? Or when they’re pointing a gun to Aunt May’s head, asking you questions about the three of us?”  Natasha said.  Peter’s already very perplexed face morphed into sheer fear. “Peter, we’re not just bringing you along because we don’t want you spewing around that Steve and I work for S.H.I.E.L.D.  Do you understand why we uprooted Wanda and took her away from her home, no how matter broken it was? And why we expected Wanda to lie to you?  If Hydra knows about you and if you know about them, then they’ll kill you! Or worse…”

Peter didn’t answer.  I looked into his eyes, which were swimming with tears as the realization of his future — lack of future — dawned on him.  His plans for MIT were gone.  Becoming a chemical engineer, gone. Everything that he’s worked so hard to achieve, _I_ took away from him.  

“What about Aunt May?  I can’t leave her, not after Uncle Ben did just the same thing,” Peter said.

“She’s your family so Fury will probably bring her with us,” Steve said.  “This time in Germany, things are going to be let a different, Wanda. We came to Manhattan because of the leads that we could chase down here.  Scott Lang.  That gambling casino.  We’re not doing that this time around Wanda.  We’re hiding, and just when you guys get settled, we’ll leave again. Sam and Sharon will stay on our team but they won’t be seen with us.  New appearances.  New names.  No ties.” Steve looked over at Peter and sighed, “And no more other friends. You two are all you’re going to have.  And we know that school is important to you two but unfortunately we can’t send you to a traditional school, anymore.  Sharon’s gone through years of school so she’ll be teaching you.  And Tony. He offered to do some video chat lessons.” I looked over at Peter, and his face was stone cold.  He wasn’t even upset anymore — he was angry.  “I know this isn’t your dream Peter, but this is the best that we can do for.”

“But you’ll get Hydra, right? And once you do, we can go back to school?”  Peter asked.

Natasha, Steve and I looked at each other for a long moment.  Nat and Steve were well-acquainted with the idea that I was still a teenager, but Peter was different.  I’ve grown up in this mess since I was before a teenager; Peter was thrown into this mess violently.  It was worse.  Peter was the same age as me, but even I saw him as just a kid.  Naive, innocent, thrown into this nightmare of a fucking life.

“Peter, Steve and I have been going after Hydra for years now…” She didn’t say much else, but looking at Peter’s expression, he understood what she was implying.  “Why don’t you two try to get some sleep?” Natasha said.  

We didn’t argue — it wasn’t like there was much point in doing so.  Now more prepared, Sharon and Sam brought up an inflatable mattress and put it into the bedroom.  They threw down extra blankets and pillows and turned the lights off. Sharon wouldn’t let us close the door, for obvious reasons.  I kept one sidearm on the nightside and the other wrapped tightly around my fingers; I knew the adults weren’t going to be sleeping, and neither was I.  Peter rolled around for a couple of minutes, kicking his legs back and forth. He looked over at me for a second, and I scooted over in bed.  At first, I thought he was going to take my offer up but then he rolled over, turning his back to me.  I stayed silent.  I couldn’t be mad at Peter, and I couldn’t blame Peter for hating me, either.  I ruined his life.  _Hydra_ ruined his life, because of me.  There was nothing that I could do or say to offer solace to Peter.  I had to let him _mourn_ , mourn for his life.

Now that the panic and hysteria was out of my system, I felt confident in my ability to think rationally.  Who the hell was I kidding?  Rationality was gone.  Hope and prayers were all that I had left.  A prayer that somehow Tony and J.A.R.V.I.S. screwed with Hydra enough that they’re now driving halfway across America because they think we relocated to California.  A prayer that the extensive security for this base would hold true.  A prayer that I would live.  A prayer that everyone I loved would live.

 _Don’t let them see your fear,_ Pietro would tell me at the Hydra social events where the Red Skull and Rumlow would watch the two of us from a distance.  I only met the Red Skull a couple of times, but I could _smell_ the devil in him.  The malice.  The anger.  

I could hear Peter’s light snoring now — how the hell did he manage to fall asleep? _Relax_ , I tried telling myself.  Natasha, Steve, Sam, Sharon and Tony were all waiting outside the door.  Sharon said there were tons of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents keeping watch for us.   _You’re safe.  Hydra can’t find you.  This isn’t like when you and Pietro were by yourselves.  This is different. Professionals are protecting you.  Relax. Sleep.  Tomorrow morning this will all be over.  You’ll like Germany.  This will_ —

BANG! BANG! BANG!  

I jolted awake, throwing the covers off. Peter was up in an instant.  I fervently clutched the sidearm next to me like it was my own child, hands tight around the grip, the safety off.  Peter lunged for the second sidearm.  I kept him behind me, shielded.  Protect Peter.  No matter what was going to happen, protect Peter.  Hide him under the goddamn bed if you have to. I was prepared for whatever was happening out there.  Steve and Natasha and Clint, they trained me for hours at the beginning of the year just for this purpose.  

The door to the bedroom was thrown open: Sharon, fearful, guns drawn. “Wanda!”  Sharon yelled. “Wanda, we need to—”

CRACK!

Sharon stopped mid-sentence, her body completely frozen as if suspended.  She stared at Peter and me for a long second, as if suddenly very confused as to who she was and what she was doing there. Then, she fell.  It was abrupt and unnatural, the way that she just collapsed before me, and I quickly figured out why she had fallen. Standing behind her, blank expression, with his hair wild and his eyes just as savage, was the Winter Soldier, a gun pointed at Sharon’s back.  Peter yelled and nearly fell backwards.  Unfazed, the Winter Soldier kept moving, closer to me, faster, with absolutely no regard for the person he just killed.  He stepped over her twisted arm, nudging Sharon’s body aside absent-mindedly as he went toward Peter and me.

Fight.  Don’t give up that easily.  Pietro didn’t.  

I open-fired.  The last time I shot a gun was down here with Natasha. I was as out of practice as I thought I would be. I missed the first time but I kept firing.  Even if Hydra took me now, at least I could have the satisfaction of killing their best agent.The second bullet hit his metal arm and ricocheted off him, hitting the lamp the bedside table.  It shattered.  The next hit his chest but he had on a bulletproof vest. It was like he didn’t even feel pain.  He didn’t even flinch as the bullet lodged itself into his armor.  

The Winter Soldier was inches from me when he grabbed the gun from my hand and threw it aside.  He casted me aside like I was nothing.   I crashed onto the air mattress, which cushioned the blow.  Peter threw himself at the Hydra agent.  “Peter, no!” I yelled.  Too late.  One second Peter was upright and the next he was on the ground, clutching the side of his face where the Winter Soldier struck him, an gash on his forehead openly bleeding.  The Winter Soldier — _Bucky_ — turned to me, grabbed a fistful of my hair and pulled me out of the bedroom.  I screamed in agony.  It felt like a million needles were poking my head.

That’s when I saw them.  Steve.  Natasha. Sam.  Tony.  Dead… Looking like fucking dolls, broken, listless, lifeless.  Tony in the corner, head bent over with the rest of his body pressed against the wall, computer half-open and thrown onto the ground. Blood soaked through his always polished and proper vest.  Sam was lying in front of the staircase, an expression of shock, lips parted ever slightly now permanently engraved on his face.  Judging by the awkward positioning of his body, it looked like he was the person who had gotten the door at the top of the stairs. Probably assumed it was a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent and was shot down the second he opened the door — must have fallen down the stairs afterwards.  And then Natasha and Steve. Natasha looked almost peaceful the way that she was lying on the ground, her hair surrounding her face like rays of fiery sunshine.  All the problems and issues that Natasha kept to herself dissipating as her life did just the same.  There wasn’t even a gun by her side.  It was like she didn’t even have the time to register that she was going to die before the Winter Soldier pulled the trigger.  

And then there was Steve, next to her.  The way that he was half-fallen on top of the Natasha and half not facing the doorway suggested he was killed last.  Probably went to catch Natasha as she fell to the ground, dead.  There was a gunshot wound in his shoulder.  Either he moved out of the way at the last second or the Winter Soldier subconsciously missed because he didn’t want to shoot his friend.  I knew that was bullshit.  Steve was dead.  And based off the way the Winter Soldier didn’t even spare a second glance at his old friend, _Bucky_ — Steve’s _Bucky_ didn’t care.  A couple feet away from Steve was a gun.  He probably dropped it after the first gunshot.  

“You stay on the ground,” the Winter Soldier seethed, a raspy, angry voice.  He threw me to the ground, the blood-stained ground. He was going back to get Peter.  

“No!” I yelled.  Keep him away from Peter. “No!” I grabbed a hold of the Winter Soldier’s arm.   _Use his size against him_ , I could hear Natasha say.  But my mind was blank.  I was desperate.  I yanked the Winter Soldier away from the doorway, enough him to throw him off balance but nothing.  He dismissively pushed me away and I skidded against the slippery, soaked ground.

I collapsed face to face with Steve, and I got a good look at his face.  Haunted.  All of his nightmares from the army and from S.H.I.E.L.D., the years of PTSD and exhaust, had risen up to Steve’s eyes. Terror now mixed with betrayal.

The Winter Soldier emerged from the bedroom again, dragging Peter along.  He was still kicking and pushing fruitlessly but when he got a clear look at the four other dead bodies in the next room, Peter stopped, disgusted, sickened. “Oh god—,” he managed.  Maybe he was reacting this way because he was looking at his idol shot and dead in the corner.  Maybe it was the sheer idea of seeing four dead bodies up close.  Or maybe he looked even worse than he had back at Banner’s room because the only people that had the best chance of saving us were now dead.  

No.  No.  No.  They can’t be dead.  They can’t be —

“Not bad for a guy with a fake arm,” a shrill voice echoed from the top of the secret.  A few scuffling footsteps and down walked six more men, dressed in dark clothing, the red emblem of Hydra burning bright against their clothes.  Rumlow was leading the pack, beside him Thanos, still jaw-dropping large, bigger than Steve even. The man speaking, a twisted, nonchalant smile on his very thin, very sharp face, was right behind Thanos.  “You become any more successful and the Red Skull will want more of us to be like you… No arms, no _real_ people anymore. Robots will replace us next.   All that will be left is metal…” He stepped onto Sam’s arm as though Sam was a doormat.   He looked around at the dead agents littering the ground. “You get so close to bringing Hydra down… S.H.I.E.L.D. rises just to fall.”  

“Who the hell are you?” I said. Try to be strong.  Don’t let them see you fear.

“Ultron, miss.  The name is Ultron.”  The man that Scott Lang was talking about.

“So this is where you guys have been hanging out,” Rumlow said, looking around. He glanced at one of the guns and then tossed it to the ground.  “Inferior.  Should have gotten yourself a Winter Soldier to protect you instead of these half-wits. And really?  You brought your boyfriend here? Should have just let him die at your school—”

Rumlow’s gun was out in the same second, pointed at Peter.  “No!” I yelled, throwing myself over Peter’s body.

Rumlow’s half-hearted expression turned to a scowl.  “Get her the fuck out of the way!” He barked.  I clutched onto Peter’s trembling arms.  I screamed and fought and kicked any limb that came into contact with me as Thanos and Ultron dragged me away from Peter.  They yanked my arms behind my back and I felt sticky, rough tape being wrapped around my wrists securely.  

“Please, please!” I cried.  Tears welled in my eyes as I watched Rumlow shove the gun into Peter’s temple.  “He doesn’t know anything.  Please just let him live.”

“Fucking hell I will,” Rumlow snapped.

“Please, I’ll do anything.  I won’t fight.   _Please_!” I sobbed.

“Man, shut her up!” Rumlow said.  And Thanos quickly ripped off a piece of tape and put it over my mouth.

“Rumlow, the boy comes with us,”  said the Winter Soldier.  He was leaning against the side of the wall, taking little to no interest before but was now edging closer and closer to his fellow Hydra agents.  The Winter Soldier, several inches taller than Rumlow, stepped in front of Peter, who was cowering on the ground, holding back tears in his eyes as he looked back and forth from the Winter Soldier to me, tied up and as useless as ever.

Rumlow’s face twisted into disgust.  “You’re not the boss.”

“And neither are you,” the Winter Soldier said back, this time angrier and firmer. “You kill this boy, and that girl never talks. She just threw herself in front of him. Imagine what we can get from her with him.”

Rumlow stood there, as though not quite comprehending what Bucky was trying to insinuate.  I understood.  And judging by the look of even more fear that spread across Peter’s face, I could tell that he understood, too.  Bucky wanted to use Peter against me.  Hurt him to get me to answer whatever stupid question they would be dying to know.  Probably get a kick out of it, too.  Good god.  Maybe even Rumlow was more merciful than this guy. How could this person, _this Hydra agent_ , be Steve’s best friend?

“Oh, oh,” Rumlow said, lowering his gun ever so slightly.  “Get them into the cars.”

With my hands still tied behind my back, Thanos thrust me up off the ground.  I was thrown off balance and my feet buckled over.  Beside me, Ultron grabbed hold of Peter.  Peter hardly even fought — he was going into shock.  Ultron tied Peter’s hands behind his back and gagged him. Thanos holding me and Ultron dragging Peter along, Rumlow led us back up the stairs.  I choked on a sob at Sam’s lifeless body as Hydra agent after Hydra agent trampled on his limbs.  Outside, black vans with blacked out windows (like these weren’t suspicious looking cars or anything) were parked out front.  Ultron and Thanos stopped in front of the first car where Thanos popped open the backdoor and Ultron taped our ankles together and put sacks over our heads. Both proceeded to throw, not just push, but literally throw the two of us into the back of car.  We landed with a thud, my head exploding with pain, my ears ringing. I wasn’t sure who got into the car with us but a few doors slammed shut, the ignition roared and then we were moving.

While lying in the car, completely immobile with a very limited ability to breath, the magnitude of the situation finally hit me. My handlers were gone.  Screw being my handlers — _my family_ was dead, and Peter was lying on the ground next me on his deathbed.  

If you were a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent in the same situation, what would I do?  Get yourself out of these bonds, first and foremost.  I tested the duct tape around my wrists: tight and painful but with enough struggling I could probably undo them.  I wasn’t sure what I was going to do afterwards.  Maybe kick the door open and run away.  Where would we go?  How far could we get without Steve and Natasha? Another sharp painful sob was hushed down by the gag covering my mouth.

No, don’t let yourself think about them.   _Stay focused. Get Peter to safety.  If_ you _get caught, that’s okay.  Don’t let another person be killed because of you_.  I kept struggling against the duct tape, but I never felt the tape loosen.  I felt my face becoming hot as I realized how impossible it’s going to be to get either of us free. And then —

The car stopped.  The driver took a sharp turn, Peter and I tumbling around the back of the car into one side.  I took the worst blow out of the two of us, considering that Peter came cascading into me.  I grunted in pain but it was comforting to feel Peter by my side, to know that he was still here and alive, as he writhed around in the car.  And then the door opened, a gush of cool hitting me.  Someone roughly grabbed my legs and began pulling me from the car, but I never felt someone giving Peter the same treatment.  Peter yelled my name through his gag as I was yanked from the car and dropped painfully onto the gravel below.  All I could hear was the sound of wind whooshing around and then the rushing of water. No cars, no whispers of conversation in the back, no signs of life.  Another Hydra agent pulled me to my feet.  The hood was removed and the gag was ripped off.

I took a long, heavy breath.  The two vans had veered off the side of a completely deserted road and was now standing under an equally run down and empty bridge, under which was a vast, gushing body of water.  A second after the hood was removed, Thanos and Ultron pushed me onto my knees.  Circling in front of me was the Winter Soldier, now very guarded and looking around suspiciously, and Rumlow, a sick, twisted smile on his face.  As he started advancing toward me, I recoiled.  It was instinct.  After all those years of being used by men, this scenario was all too familiar.  I struggled against Ultron and Thanos as Rumlow grabbed a hold of my face and forced my mouth open wide. “What do you see?”  Rumlow asked.  

The Winter Soldier came to his side.  “That molar in the back.  That’s the one. Standard S.H.I.E.L.D. tracking device.  You can tell by the color.”  

I wasn’t sure if I was relieved or equally as terrified.  They weren’t here to — god, just thinking it made me feel sick.  

Rumlow pulled out a pair of pliers from his pocket, grinning.  “This is gonna—”

“I’m doing it,” the Winter Soldier interrupted, pushing Rumlow aside and taking the pair of pliers in his own steel hand.  “I don’t think the boss wants you to die before we can make it back to the base. You two hold her still.”  The Hydra agent looked into my eyes and, for a second, I thought I saw pity but it vanished a second later.  “Believe me, if you move, you’ll only make this harder on yourself.  Just hold still.”

No anesthetic, no nothing to ease the pain. The Winter Soldier inserted the pliers into my mouth, which was so large it hardly fit properly.  It tasted of dirt and I gagged.  I felt the pliers latch onto my tooth in the back. I shut my eyes and clenched my fists. A twist and then a yank.  At first, it was pure numbness and then my mouth exploded.  Sharp, excruciating pain erupted where the tooth was missing. A sob stopped mid-throat as I choked on my own blood, swarming and filling my mouth.  “Get off her,” the Winter Soldier spat, Ultron and Thanos let go of me. I thought I was going to land face first — I didn’t have the goddamn energy to keep myself up anymore — but a metal arm caught hold of my shoulder.  He knelt down beside me. “Spit.  Get the blood out of your mouth.” I followed his instructions but nothing helped. My eyes were watering.  

The Winter Soldier walked away; I didn’t look up to see where.  “What is that?”  Rumlow said.

“What the fuck does it look like?”  The Winter Soldier sneered.  “Ice and a goddamn cloth.  You don’t want our asset bleeding out in the back seat, do you?” He yanked my mouth open again and stuffed a soft, white cloth into the corner of my mouth.  Then, he tore open the back of the car door where he took hold of Peter, who fought and kicked. “You kick me one more time and I’ll shoot your foot right off,” the man said. He took the hood of Peter’s head, revealing a tear-streaked, blood-soaked face.  The Winter Soldier cut the tape off of Peter’s wrists and then bound his hands in front of him.  Afterwards, the Winter Soldier lifted me with ease and set me down beside Peter, who’s eyes went wide as he got a good look on my face.  “She’s probably going to pass out soon so keep this ice on her cheek and change the cloth in her mouth whenever.  Don’t try anything funny otherwise we dump your dead body on the side of the road and she chokes on her blood, understand?”

Peter nodded. He scooted closed to me and lightly put the ice against my cheek. His eyes said it all: terror, a lack of understanding why these Hydra agents thought they should rip a tooth of my mouth.  I felt my eyelids becoming heavy as my mouth continued to throb. And then nothingness…

 


	21. Wanda Maximoff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wanda and Peter are trapped at a Hydra base.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Biggest warning that I'll have to post for the entire story for graphic descriptions of rape/sexual assault as well as how deeply it affects Wanda. Please, please read at your own discretion. I'm really nervous about posting this chapter just because it is such a heavy topic, and I really hope I described its effects accurately and respectively.

Chapter Twenty-One: Wanda Maximoff

Darkness. Darkness engulfing me like a thick, heavy fog that swirled around me, tossing me back and forth, woozy and intensely, as if someone was pushing me to and fro.  Lack of security.  Lack of safety. I waved my hands around, desperate, but I could never latch onto something to hold. As I moved forward, I realized that my legs were stuck — glued to the ground, completely impaired. Then in the distant came a light that protruded through the darkness, that made the surrounding area glow. A sharp hum filled the area: it was the lullaby that Pietro used to sing to himself whenever we would go on walks around our neighborhood, when we younger, happier.  

“Pietro?” I said, my voice weak. “Pietro, is that you?” The humming grew louder and the light came closer, blindingly bright now, enough to make me cover my eyes.  As the light came closer, it was like the glue that was keeping me stuck to the ground was melting away.  “Pietro?” 

Then I saw him — _them_ , my family, surrounded by light, like wings.  My brother in all his glory, that toothy, easy smile on his face without a care in the world.  My real parents, their arms around each other’s backs, as they looked down at me with a warm-hearted smile and an equally kind-hearted expression on their faces.  Then Clint, a dismissive, not-giving-a-shit about anything expression on his face; Sam looked as if he was permanently telling jokes and laughing at them for the rest of his life; then Sharon, lips curved into a smile.  Tony was beside Sharon, dressed in the same outfit he was wearing when I first met him: vests, pink glasses and a half-sarcastic expression on his face.  Natasha, dressed in her black catsuit, her fiery red hair a sharp contrast against the blinding white.  And then Steve, in his army uniform, looking dashing and strong and healthy.  He had on this huge smile, a smile that suggested he was truly and completely happy.  He had his arm wrapped around Natasha, leaning into her shoulder, a sort of close proximity that came with years of friendship and years of depending on each other.  Everyone that I loved… _dead_.

“Scarlet,” Pietro said, Sokovian accent thick, utterly true to himself.

“Wanda,” Steve added, my identity with which he was familiar.  “Wanda, it’s okay.  We’re okay.”

“You’re all dead,” I managed.  I expected myself to crumble and sob but I stayed upright, so exhausted with death that it didn’t even bother me anymore.  “How are you okay?”

“It’s easier this way,” Tony said.  “I don’t have to worry about competing for patents anymore. I miss J.A.R.V.I.S., I have to admit that, but I can just make another where I am.  Where we all are.”

“You can come with us, Wanda,” Natasha said.  “You can come _home_.”

“I don’t have a home,” I said.

“We can build one,” Steve said.

“How?” I asked.

Steve smiled, “Together.  You just need to come with us, Wanda, and everything can be over.”  The idea was so damn enticing.  I could run away and be with the people I love.  I could be reunited with Pietro and my parents at last.  No more looking over my shoulder.  “You just need to say yes, Wanda,” Steve said.  He outstretched his hand, light seeping from his body as his arm reached closer and closer to me.

I went for his hand and then, “Wanda?” It was Peter’s voice, full of panic, a shriek.  “Wanda, you have to stay with me!”  I looked around, panic-ridden, but I was glued to the ground again.  “Wanda, please don’t let me leave!” Peter sobbed.

“Ignore him, Wanda,” Pietro warned.  “You stay with me, now.”

“Wanda,” Peter cried.  And then I saw him, doubled over in agony, the Winter Soldier pressing a gun to the back of his head. “Wanda, if you don’t stay here with me, I’ll die.  Don’t leave me here.  Not when this is all your fault.”

I made up my decision.  I had to get to Peter.  I had to protect Peter.  And as I moved one step closer to where Peter’s voice was coming from, a shrill laughter filled the dark world around me.  And then red.  Lots and lots of red, like a mist that came swarming toward us, threatening and ominous, replacing the light around my family.  They cried out, slashing as the red surrounded them, choked them to death.  I couldn’t do anything but just stand there, dumbly, and watch.  Quickly, the red shifted to burning orange. The world was engulfed with flames.  Burning flames and in the wake of the fire, the smoke rising above twisted and formed into an image of a face. The Red Skull.

* * *

My eyelids opened wide, only to be met with fuzzy gray and an explosion of pain on a variety of levels. I tried to muster the energy to lift so much as even my shoulders, but every part of my body was restrained and wouldn’t move.  I was stuck to some uncomfortable, hard chair, my hands tied behind my back and each foot tied to a chair leg with rough, scratchy ropes that dug into my skin.  I swallowed hard, my throat dry. I could tell I wasn’t bleeding anymore, but my cheeks and mouth were throbbing and sore.  My mouth was jammed full of cloth and I could feel the tape plastered over my mouth. Dark cloth was wrapped around my eyes and tied tightly in the back, cutting off my ability to see. Tight and uncomfortable and restrained.  Incapable of moving. Incapable of getting myself free.  Deprived of all normal functioning senses. Whimpering and struggling against my bonds, I tried desperately to figure out if Peter was in the same room as me. I had to figure out where Peter was being kept, and figure out what Rumlow did to him. The Winter Soldier convinced Rumlow pretty quickly to keep Peter alive and, unless the Red Skull preferred Peter to be killed immediately, he _should_ still be alive.

I tried and tried to make enough noise to see if Peter would respond, even a whimper from him would be enough. I kept quiet. Complete silence.  Absolutely nothing. And as it quickly dawned on me that Peter wasn’t here with me, that or Rumlow beat him to submission, I heaved a sob into the blood-soaked, metallic-tasting, dry gag. Wet, hot tears rolled down my face as I convulsed painfully in my chair. Weeping as violently as I was didn’t help when I could hardly breath.  My head began to throb as a migraine set in. Every bit of training that Natasha and Steve gave me, their advice that keeping calm and staying focused was the best way to handle these situations, slipped away. It wasn’t like their years of training did them any good against the Winter Soldier and Hydra.  Otherwise they wouldn’t be lying on the ground in the underground base, dead.

Jesus.  I was all alone.  All alone after years of Pietro fighting for me to live, and the months of Steve and Natasha fighting for me to live. My life was going to end, of course after the Red Skull does whatever he’s planning on doing to me. I knew I could handle torture. I’ve been through worse. Sexual assault. Rape.  Watching my family die. The beatings inflicted on my body after countless encounters with faceless men.  Years of malnutrition. Years of being terrified.  My body has taken it all, and I was prepared to take a lot worse because frankly I didn’t care anymore.  But Peter… he made this entire situation vastly different.  I didn’t care if I lived or died, but I did care what happened to Peter. Years ago, when Pietro and I first started running, we made a pact with each other.  Stay silent.  Say nothing.  Die if you have to but _do not_ give Hydra what they want because, even if they offer to save us, death was inevitable if Hydra catches us.

But what’s my play now? They could hurt me and I’d say nothing, but I wouldn’t able to bear seeing anything happen to Peter. He didn’t ask for this. He was just a friendly kid who almost knocked over the new girl with his skateboard and decided to play friends. What if I had just stepped a little to the side or if I spent a longer time talking to Principal Hill? How different would my life have been? How much safer would Peter’s life have been if he never met me?

It wasn’t like his life had been any easier: a dead uncle and dead parents proved that much, but he had a future.  A promising one.  An intelligent kid and an aunt and friends who loved him. I wiped him clean of all of that.  Add on top the fact that I’m going to get him killed.

The door opened and slammed shut a second later. My head was too heavy to look around, but I inhaled sharply. It was a habit, breathing becoming painfully uneven whenever Hydra was near, even before Pietro and I were on their hitlist.  Under the crack of my blindfold, I could see a few pairs of feet, wearing heavy black boots and setting up a chair in front.  Someone occupied the chair. Calloused, dry fingers ripped the blindfold off of me. I got a look at my surroundings, but there wasn’t much to see, other than a dark, vast, empty room.  I took in the parts of my body that I could see: my pants dirt-streaked, blood caked on my shoulders and jacket. I blinked a few more times and there he was.  The Red Skull perched in front of me with a twisted smile, flashing large, toothy, yellow teeth.  In all his glory with the receding hairline and wrinkles around his high-arching eyebrows and the menacing glare in his eyes coupled with the sweeping black overcoat and the faint tattoo of the Hydra insignia etched on his neck in red ink. Sharp nose and sharp features in his face and slits for his dark eyes.  Beside a few wrinkles, he looked the same. _The Red Skull._ Terrifying and menacing. Malice in his every movement. The Winter Soldier rounded on me, ripping the tape off, leaving my cheeks and lips stinging. He pulled the cloth out of my mouth, and I coughed, heaving dry sobs and gasps for breath.

“How is her mouth?” The Red Skull asked, barely understandable behind his heavy German accent.

I didn’t know much about the Red Skull, other than the glimpses of background information that Strucker and the Red Skull alluded to when they were talking to Pietro and me. Born in Germany and under the name Johann Schmidt, he was orphaned at a young age and survived his way through life off of minimum-wage, blue-collar jobs. His first kill was the wife of a drug dealer, Esther. After taking the drug pin named Hydra, he turned it into the monster that it’s known as today.

“She’ll survive,” the Winter Soldier said, pushing my head away. I tried to open my mouth to speak, but all that came out was a low croak. Rolling his eyes, the Winter Soldier put a glass of water to my lips and forced me to drink a little over half of it. Though the water was tepid and tasted slightly funny, any sort of liquid soothed my extremely dry throat.

“Better, Ms. Maximoff?” The Red Skull asked.

“Where the hell is Peter?” I said.  I tried to keep my voice forceful but I was so parched that my voice was shaky and I was out of breath by the time that I finished.

The Red Skull just laughed, the same laugh that I heard in my nightmare. High-pitched and ringing. “Your boyfriend is still alive, if that’s what you’re concerned about. He’s unharmed, beside whatever beatings he took when we were trying to get you two here. I’ve instructed my men to leave him alone until I say otherwise. But whatever happens to him moving forward relies solely on you. I think it’s funny that you didn’t leave the night of the science expo.”

I felt new, stupid courage. “People tend to do stupid things for friends, right _Bucky_?” I said.

I got the reaction that I wanted.  The Winter Soldier tensed and he shot daggers at me.  He leaned in close to me. “You mention that name one more time and I give your boyfriend a beating so bad that his family feels it.”

The Red Skull laughed.  “You’re very good at making friends, Ms. Lungu — or do you prefer Ms. Maximoff now?”  I didn’t answer. “I’ll stick with Ms. Maximoff for now.  I just wanted to ask because names go with identities, who you are.  And, perhaps I’m incorrect, but Ms. Lungu is not the same as Ms. Maximoff, is it?  Different friends, different family.  You’ve been hiding your true identity from everyone, _including yourself_.”

“Why am I still alive?”I interrupted.  “Why not just kill me?  Make it easy on yourself.”

“That’s not very fun now, is it?” the Hydra leader sneered.  He got up.  “Tonight. You and your boyfriend will join my colleagues and me at dinner.” He got in closer. “Rumlow will supply your attire.”

I shuddered.  The Red Skull swept out of the cellar, his coat flapping back and forth. The Winter Soldier stopped to stare at me for another second, hatred burning in his eyes, before quickly following his boss out of the cellar.  I collapsed against the back of the chair, still weak, my fat lip and swollen cheek still making speaking regularly quite difficult, but I was relieved that Peter wasn’t hurt.  Yet.  

I had to get out of here.  The ropes weren’t going to budge but maybe tonight, when Rumlow was coming to give whatever revealing, scanty clothes he and the Red Skull’s entourage of men expected me to wear, I could distract him.  He was easy like that.  Maybe it was unhealthy for me.  Hell, it _was_ unhealthy for me to give Rumlow exactly what he wanted when it came to my body and my image.  It was a lust for me that he’s been wanting, urging for ever since he saw the young version of me cowering beside Pietro.  I wasn’t sure what it was that he found so attractive about someone who was barely a teenager, but perhaps it was just that.  The way that I shrunk under his gaze or was skirmish whenever he was around.  The idea that Rumlow _knew_ he was stronger and bigger than me.  He probably got off on the sheer idea of power and dominance over someone so much smaller.  And I could use that to my advantage.  Rumlow almost always had a weapon.  Give him the chance to do whatever he wanted and when he was vulnerable or flustered, take his gun and shoot him.  Fast.  No hesitation.  If I felt like things were going the wrong way, I wouldn’t do it.  If anyone but Rumlow came to bring me to this dinner, I wouldn’t try anything. Not when, if I failed, Peter’s life was at stake.

 _You have to stay strong_ , I told myself. _Don’t be scared of him, not anymore.  You have to do it._

I heard footsteps again.  Rumlow, fitted in a black shirt, came forward, carrying a black dress and black heels in his hands.   _Stick with your plan_.   _Don’t let him see your fear_. I glared up at him, but with the swollen cheeks and the blood-streaked face, I was far from menacing. Judging by Rumlow’s expression, the way he laughed, he was absolutely not intimidated.  

He was hovering right over me now.  I withdrew into myself, shoulders hunched and curled together as much as possible.  Rumlow grabbed hold of my chin, his fingers tracing the edges of my jawline, not like the way that Peter used to do it. Controlling and assertive with the sole purpose of sucking in power.  Exactly like those men before.  He sneered again and pressed the blade of a knife against the bonds around my ankle and cut me loose. Rumlow gripped my shoulders, yanking me toward him.  Shaking, I hadn’t expected this.  Why didn’t I expect that Rumlow wouldn’t untie me?  How _fucking stupid_ had I been?  Rumlow was so close that his breath was hitting my neck, hot and sick. His slimy hands grabbed hold of the folds of my jacket as he yanked it down my arm, exposing my shoulder. Pressing his lips against my bare skin, I cried out as he began sucking on my shoulder.   _Fight._  And I did. I kicked him in the shin, as hard as I could muster.  Rumlow yelped, throwing me to the ground.

“Stupid fucking bitch!”  He yelled, kicking me in the stomach.  I groaned, the wind knocked out of me.  My ribs exploded. Relentless, Rumlow hauled me off the ground.  “You better not act like that at dinner, tonight.  The Red Skull gave me an all access pass to your boyfriend if you ever get out of line.”

He snatched the dress and heels in one hand and began pushing me out of the cellar and down the hall with his other.  As we passed door by door, I tried to keep track of where we were going. This place wasn’t that big, which was good.  Take a right out of my cellar, another right at the end of the hall and then we came to stop in front of two double doors.  Rumlow used me as a means to open the doorway and I toppled to the ground, using my shoulder to stop myself from collapsing face first. I looked around as Rumlow got me to my feet.  We were in a bedroom.  A bed with a gray blanket over top and a couple of thin pillows in yellow pillow cases. Nothing else. Ugly and barren.  My heart started racing as I expected the worse but Rumlow didn’t even spare a glance toward the bed.  He brought me into a bathroom.  A small shower in the corner, a toilet in the other and then an equally tiny sink with barely any counter space.  Rumlow hung the dress on a hook on the door and threw the shoes on the ground.  “The Red Skull wanted me to give you this,” he said, setting another small plastic bag with makeup and a curling iron inside on the sink counter.  “You have one hour.  I’ll drag your ass out of here when your time is up. And don’t bother putting in your colored contacts. I love — no, I _want_ those blue eyes back.” He cut my wrists free, the skin left raw.

Rumlow closed the door behind him and I was by myself.  No windows were in sight and, beside the makeup, curling iron, toilet paper, towels and shampoo, there was nothing that could constitute as a weapon. Hell, the cord to the curling iron wasn’t even that long and it couldn’t act as much of a weapon.   _Follow their instructions. Your time will come to attack_ , I reassured myself.  I looked at myself in the mirror. Sickly yellow and purple bruises disfigured my once clean skin.  Even with the ice and cloth the Winter Soldier offered me to help stop the bleeding, it didn’t prevent blood from caking up along the sides of my cracked, cut-up lips.  It was amazing to think that just however many hours ago the dance was, I looked completely different. Put together.  Confident in my appearance. Beautiful.  In just the short span that Hydra had taken me, all of that was gone now. With so much more.  

I took my brown contacts out before I got into the shower.  They were an old pair so my eyes underneath were itchy and in pain. I looked up in the mirror, the blue eyes scorching against my skin and hair.  It didn’t seem right.  Even though the blue eyes went with my true identity, it didn’t match the brown hair.  It didn’t match _Wanda Maximoff._ It was just an eye color, but it was so much more.  I didn’t know who I was…

I peeled my clothes off and got into the water fast.  The feeling of hot water on my bloody skin was _awful_.  But the pain was good.  The pain kept me from staying hidden in the shower for too long, kept me focused, kept me attentive.  I couldn’t stand the thought of being naked for too long, not with Rumlow waiting outside, so I hastily rinsed my hair out and scrubbed the dried blood of my cheek.  It was excruciating, scrubbing my cheeks clean with how disgustingly beat up my cheeks were, but it was necessary.  If I wasn’t the picture perfect image that the Red Skull and his followers expected me to be, then there would be punishment.  I was out of the shower a couple minutes later.  Now that the dried blood was gone, all that was left were the bruises. I wiped my tears and began pulling on the dress. It was a painfully tight bandage dress with spaghetti straps and an incredibly deep v.  My chest wasn’t big enough to hold the dress up, and I felt like everything was falling out in all the wrong places.  Dressed for exploitation. Able to see _everything_ from _any_ spot.

I wrapped my hair in a towel and did my makeup next.  My craftsmanship was sloppy but all that mattered was covering me up. Putting up a mask so that Hydra didn’t have to see the real me anymore.  Just the twisted image of the girl they desired.  I didn’t care that behind all this makeup, I was hiding my face and my pain.  It was worse knowing that Peter was about to see the image of the girl he hadn’t met yet. _Scarlet_.  A dead soul stuck in a breathing body.  A few layers of red lipstick and some tightly curled hair later, I was finished. Unrecognizable.  The finishing touch being the heels that were so high it was hard to walk.  Stumbling out the bathroom, Rumlow and the Winter Soldier were standing there waiting. Rumlow’s gaze fell upon me, eyes traveling up and down my thin figure. Taking one step toward me, I stumbled backwards.

The Winter Soldier intervened, sticking his metal arm out and pushing Rumlow away. “You know the boss’s instructions.  It's bad enough you may have broken her ribs.”

Rumlow ignored him. He grabbed my shoulder and pushed me out of the bedroom and up the stairs.  The first level was dramatically different: open-space, natural light, as if actual people could live here.  We walked through a tiny living room with green sofas and a TV playing ESPN.  A few Hydra men, some that even I didn’t recognize, were hovering by the living room, still enjoying as much of the game as they could.  As Rumlow and the Winter Soldier came up the stairs, they flicked off whatever game was on and followed us out into the living room to the main dining area. A grand room with stingy lighting and minimal furniture, all that was in the dining room was an incredibly long table, big enough to fit at least twenty people plus two seats at the head of the table on both sides.  Sparkling glass plates and glimmering goblets were in front of every chair.  Hanging above the table was an enormous chandelier.  The Hydra insignia was plastered everywhere: on the chandelier, the backs of chairs, and even engraved on the utensils.

More footsteps.  I looked over my shoulder as Ultron dragged Peter into the living room.  He wore black khakis and a dark gray button-up shirt.  Peter, other than a couple of bruises on his jawline, didn’t look physically harmed.  But beneath his otherwise unharmed physique, everything else about his appearance suggested that he was far from put together.  His shoulders were drooping, his hair slightly messed up. Uncharacteristic.  Wrong.  And his eyes. Those beautiful eyes were empty, void of all the humor and excitement that I loved so much about him.  It was all gone.

“Peter…” I whispered, eyes swelling with tears.

And then he was in my arms.  It didn’t matter how much we had been fighting before and it didn’t matter how angry Peter was at me for the lying and the deceit. Nothing mattered anymore because we were together.  We were safe _right now_ , and being safe at any given moment was all that we could ask for.  Peter’s head was buried in my shoulder, tears streaming down his face.  It felt like my heart was being wrenched out of my chest and stepped on over and over by the Red Skull and Rumlow and the Winter Soldier.  

“I was so — I was so scared,” Peter gasped, wiping his tear-stained cheeks.

“Okay, that’s enough,” Rumlow said. He yanked me away from Peter. Thrown off balance, I tripped into the closest chair and hit my cracked rib.  I let out a sharp, pained yelp.

“Hey! What the hell?” Peter yelled. “Get away from her!”  He pushed Rumlow aside (not that that did anything given the size difference) and went to my side.

Rumlow’s eyes flashed with anger.  In a split second, Peter was crumbled up on the ground, groaning.  “No, stop!”  I yelled but I didn’t need to intervene.  Bucky caught Rumlow’s fist, twisted his arm around and knocked Rumlow over.  

He towered over Rumlow. “The boss said _untouched_ ,” Bucky said, pushing Rumlow away and hoisting Peter off the ground.

I reached for Peter, checking the side of his face where Rumlow hit him.  It was beat red.  “I’m fine. I’m fine,” Peter said.

“Get in your seats,” the Winter Soldier demanded, even though we grabbed us by our shoulders and pushed us into our seats, side by side.  At least they gave us that. Close proximity.

Hydra thugs filed in a moment later, big and burly, grotesque looking.  They glared down at Peter and me, judging our appearance, staring at us like we were a bug under a magnifying glass.  Some of them I recognized: Thanos, sneering, flexing his muscles like the asshole he was with the power complex he had.  Dr. Doom came in behind Thanos, face streaked with scars, dubbed such a name because of how he tortures his victims.  Helmet Zemo, a former Sokovian citizen.  A few others whose names I couldn’t recall but whose faces were engraved in my memory; I only met them a couple of times at those Hydra gatherings to which Pietro and I had to attend.  The other men, the new ones, looked just the same as the old ones, matching physiques and all.  Knowing what I knew about the people that I recognized, I quickly put together who I was dining with: Hydra’s kill squad.  The group of men the Red Skull relies on to terminate threats, to keep Hydra from crumbling underneath itself.  Peter never saw any of these men before, and the expression of awe at their size yet still terrified mirrored my reaction when I first met them myself.  The only difference between him and me was that I had Pietro.  He was a barrier between Hydra and me, an infallible one — up until his death.  Hydra’s men couldn’t do anything to me.  There was no barrier for Peter.  All he had was me — and what the fuck could I do?

The Hydra men settled into their respective seats.  Peter and I sat at the far right and Rumlow came to sit in front of us, leaving one seat to his right and the head of the table open.  Thanos went to Rumlow’s other side.  I’ve been to enough Hydra dinners to know that Hydra agents sit in order of seniority.  All except for the Winter Soldier, who perched himself at the opposite end of the table.  As he dismissively fell into his seat, I watched as the Hydra thugs cowered away as they passed by him.  The Winter Soldier was feared.  And extremely disinterested in everyone and everything. Steve’s old army friend.  

The Red Skull entered a second later, timed as such to make his entrance dramatic and to ensure that every single one of his followers’ eyes were on him.  Though the Red Skull didn’t immediately come off as murderous, the way that the Hydra thugs, all of whom probably had a hundred pounds on the Red Skull, straightened up and fell silent made it clear that this man entering now was someone to be feared.  Peter recognized that, and he drew in breath when the Red Skull walked inside.  The Red Skull stopped next to me, looking at Peter and me in the eyes before going in front of his seat by the head of the table.

“Friends, colleagues, today we gather in a celebratory feast.”  The dining hall was vast and the Red Skull’s voice echoed.  “We are joined here today by two very special guests.  The first, this boy, is Peter Parker. Most of you probably don’t know who he is. He only came on our radar a couple weeks ago.  A young boy with a promising future, stupid enough to befriend the girl sitting next to you.  And this girl, you _all_ know who she is.  Wanda Maximoff — or as many of you know her as: Scarlet Lungu, Pietro’s younger sister.”  Those last few words hung in the air.  I felt all eyes on me. “Do you know who Pietro is, Mr. Parker?”

“Her brother.  The one you had killed,” Peter said, looking the Red Skull directly in the eyes. 

“At least she did told you _something_ ," the Red Skull laughed.  “And we have one more joining us for dinner today.  A close — _friend_ of mine.  Mr. Zola, would you please come join us?”

The sound of shoes clicking in the background and another man emerged from the darkness.  He was nothing like the other Hydra agents.  Short, withered and portly, he wore a pinstripe suit and eyeglasses that sat crookedly on his pointed nose.  Thin wisps of brownish hair stood up in patches on his already severely balding head.  Peter glanced at me but I was as clueless as he was.  I’ve seen plenty of Hydra agents in my day but never one this _physically_ inept.  But despite my doubts, the Red Skull wasn’t looking _down_ on this man but looked at him with respect.

“Do you recognize him, Ms. Maximoff?” The Red Skull asked.

“No,” I said.

The man laughed, a weird, shaky laugh. “Not to worry, dear,” the man said.  Like the Red Skull, he spoke with a very thick German accent.  “My name is Arnim Zola.” He paused but I said nothing in response.

“Nothing? How disappointing,” the Red Skull sneered.

“Her handlers were probably too absorbed in their own filthy, tiny lives to mention me,” this man, Mr. Zola, said.

“They won’t be worrying about their puny lives anymore,” Rumlow guffawed. The other Hydra agents roared with laughter, and the ones closest to Bucky slapped him on the back; Bucky didn't even crack a smile in response. 

“Yes, quite an excellent few kills for our Winter Soldier,” the Red Skull complimented.  He looked over at me.  “I’m sure your handler’s were great people but they were in my way.  And you, of all people, know what happens when someone gets in my way.”

I looked away.  Peter reached for my hand and tenderly brushed his fingers against my own.  In that same instant, the doors opened yet again and this time, two young girls came staggering into the living room. They had olive tan skin and were very gaunt, dressed in loose fitting brown dresses and white aprons, pushing two carts forward: one with a massive platter of roast beef, steamed vegetables and mashed potatoes; the other with a variety of different alcoholic beverages, ranging from cold beer to wine to hard liquor.  The two girls began dishing out food and pouring drinks.  As they passed me, I saw the Hydra insignia branded on their wrists.  I recognized what they were to Hydra: a modernized indentured servant. Hydra offers loans to families who were desperate for money and when the money can’t be paid off in full by a certain date, a family member is taken to make up for it.  It supposedly because Hydra used these family members, and they only select females, to make dinner, do the cleaning, and that saves Hydra from having to pay for blue collar workers.  They weren't here just for labor, though.  Hydra agents were forbidden from entering long term relationships and according to the Red Skull, _men have urges_.  Sexism was still highly prevalent in Hydra.  Only men were allowed to be on the kill squad and even the women who joined Hydra were still treated like objects.  No one spared a second thought about this system.  It was ingrained in Hydra’s structure.

When they came to serve me, they looked at me sheepishly, as if I was the person to feel sorry for… This girl serving the food had a pretty face but expressionless eyes. Years of bad treatment from Hydra can do that to a person.  She served a small piece of roast beef and piled on mushy mashed potatoes.  It didn’t occur to me why until the men around me began stabbing and gnawing on their food.  “Ms. Maximoff, you don’t seem to be enjoying your food,” the Red Skull said.

“I — I can’t eat this…” I whispered, pointing to the roast beef.

“Our cooks will feel quite sad to hear that,” the Red Skull seethed.  “Don’t be disrespectful to them, please.   _Eat your food_.”

“She said she can’t. Metal Arm over there just yanked a tooth out of her mouth,” Peter seethed. Gasps filled the air.   _No one_ spoke to the Red Skull like that with that tone of voice and lived.

The Red Skull narrowed his eyes.  “Your boyfriend has quite an attitude,” he said. He looked into my eyes.  “I suggest you eat the food that we gave you.” He looked at Peter and then back at me again. “Let’s try to avoid conflict, _for now_.”

I understood what the Red Skull was implying.  It was just food but it was also a display of power.  I couldn’t ignore one of the Red Skull’s orders, regardless of what it was.  So I picked up my fork, the entire room completely silent, cut a small piece of the roast beef and put it into my mouth.  I tried very hard to only chew it on the opposite side of the missing tooth but still, the pain was excruciating.  After a couple of bites, I resorted to swallowing it whole. “How is it?” Rumlow said, laughing.

“It’s fine,” I said through tears.

“Good,” the Red Skull said.  “Now that we have food, we can continue, yes?”  He looked over at Arnim Zola.  “You see, Ms. Maximoff, Mr. Zola not just works for Hydra but also for S.H.I.E.L.D.”

I put my fork down. “What? He — he works for S.H.I.E.L.D.? I don’t…” I stuttered.

“Let me explain myself Ms. Maximoff,” Arnim Zola said.  “Operation: Paperclip. Nick Fury was looking to bring foreign scientists that worked with their government to America to _borrow_ their intelligence.  I was brought from the German government.  I also happened to specialize in computer forensics.  I gave Fury what he wanted: information on German ops that threatened US society, etc., etc.  I was strategic value.  But I had my own agenda, and I had my own lies that even Fury couldn’t dig back up.  I didn’t work for the German government, Ms. Maximoff.  I worked for Hydra, and this opportunity was one that neither of us,” —he gestured toward the Red Skull—, “could pass up.”

“How did you get that past Fury?  How did he not know you were Hydra?” I asked.

The Red Skull chuckled.  “Hydra can hide the identity of its assets just as if not more effectively than S.H.I.E.L.D.  I have a few deep ties in the German government. Pulled a few strings, faked a few documents, and that was it.  Director Fury never suspected a thing.”

“But — but Germany was supposed to be clear from Hydra,” I stammered.  “Steve and Nat, they were going to send us there next.”

“It’s funny that you say that,” Mr. Zola continued.  “Hydra was founded in Germany, but I’ve been working well and hard to keep that under Fury’s nose.  We don’t broadcast Hydra there the way we did in Sokovia — Germany has too strong a resistance against Hydra for us to be so public in a such a big country.  And because I also specialize in computer forensics, I do some side work for Fury, highly classified information as well.  Classified information including your case.  I was the person who came up with the list of places that was safe for you and your team to live there. And I gave Fury a list of places in which, unbeknownst to him, Hydra was deeply involved.  He didn’t tell me what place he picked but Manhattan and Munich, Germany were both on that list.”

“Mr. Zola has been invaluable in our attempt to find you,” the Red Skull said. “And Hydra is forever indebted to Mr. Zola. For the past few months, Mr. Rumlow, Mr. Barnes and the rest of our kill squad have been scouring the globe for you.”

“I was very careful when it came to working with S.H.I.E.L.D., especially with Director Fury keeping watchful eyes on everything that I was doing.  I did his bidding when I needed to, uncovered Hydra secrets and fed them to Captain Rogers and Agent Romanoff.  Some were legitimate — it would seem odd if every location or base I gave to Director Fury was a false trail. But there were many that I made up.  None ended with your two handler’s deaths.  No matter.  Many other S.H.I.E.L.D. died at my hands,” Mr. Zola said.  “I was quiet, a no one making sure to cover up Hydra’s trails when necessary or warn the Red Skull when someone was about to threaten the foundation of our organization.  And then one day, one day I stumbled upon the greatest news that I had yet to discover.  I overheard Natasha Romanoff mention Hydra over the phone.  I hacked into her cell phone and listened to the conversation, the caller being a one _Pietro Lungu_.  We would have snatched you earlier than when you went to the waterpark but your brother never gave up his location." 

I paled.  “That’s how — that’s how Hydra found us at the waterpark…”

“You know what’s funny?” The Red Skull said.  “If you had never reached out to S.H.I.E.L.D. for protection the way that you and brother did, your brother would probably still be alive.”

My ears were ringing because, _god_ , it was true.  Painfully, utterly true.

“And then Scott Lang came around, and, lo and behold, Fury asked me to find the Hydra base Scott Lang conned.  At first I didn’t make the connection that S.H.I.E.L.D. went after Lang because of you.  We didn’t care much if we lost that gambling casino, especially since Batroc was stupid enough to get conned,” Zola said.

“We were prepared to let S.H.I.E.L.D. do whatever it had planned for the men in that gambling casino.  If Georges Batroc hadn’t used the cyanide tooth to escape capture, we would have had to kill him, anyway.  You did us a favor.  The only person we pulled from that operation to keep safe was Ultron,” the Red Skull, gesturing toward the gangly man toward the end of the table.

“Good thing you did,” Ultron said.  “I was miserable there.”

Arnim Zola smiled.  “As I was saying, I had no idea how vital Scott Lang was in finding you.  Because if it wasn’t for Scott Lang giving up that location, your friend, your handler, _Clint Barton_ wouldn’t have died. We didn’t think we were going to find you… Then, by sheer _luck_ and good timing, I saw something.  Paperwork sitting on the printer waiting to be collected.  It was for a housing application in Manhattan for _Sharon Carter_.  I thought it was oddly coincidental that Fury was sending a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent to the same place in which a Hydra raid took place, especially given that all the hard drives there had been copied and sent to S.H.I.E.L.D. already.  I did my research. The only information that I got was that Sharon Carter was transferring to take over to Clint Barton and was now going to be partners with Steve Rogers and Natasha Romanoff.  I knew that they were the go-to agents for anything Hydra but I didn’t understand why they were still in Manhattan.  And then it clicked.  Something important was there, something worth having at least three very skilled and very valued S.H.I.E.L.D. living there. Four, if you include Sam Wilson.”

“That’s why Rumlow was in Manhattan?” I asked.

“Yes,” Zola said.

“How did you know to send Rumlow to the science fair?” I said.

“We weren’t originally there for you, Ms. Maximoff,” Zola said. “Your handler’s identities were compromised.  Every S.H.I.E.L.D. agent is equipped with a pager in case Fury needs them at the last second. I bugged the one that Sharon Carter had. We sent a Hydra agent, a new one that S.H.I.E.L.D. wouldn’t recognize, to stake out the apartment.  Then he saw you and Natasha leaving your apartment for the science expo.  Funny how he never saw your face, but he did recognize Ms. Romanoff.  That sort of hair you don’t forget.  We tracked her cell phone, followed her to the science expo. That’s why Rumlow was there.  To get to Agent Romanoff, not to you.  Luck.  We found you off of luck.”

“And is that pager how you knew we went back to Manhattan?” I asked.

“Handy, isn’t it?” Zola said.  “At first, we weren’t sure.  Unfortunately, the tracking device only works when Fury has the pager on, and it was off shortly off you departed Manhattan.  We didn’t know where you went so we bided our time.  And then it activated again when she had already returned to New York.”

“This — this is impossible.  S.H.I.E.L.D. would have stopped you! They would’ve figured you out,” I said.  This couldn’t be true.  It couldn’t be that _simple_ for Hydra.

“Oh, but they didn’t, did they?  And they never will.  Because the only people who knows what’s happened to you and Peter are dead.  Even when you think you’re going to be able to escape, Hydra will always have a way of finding you, _Wanda Maximoff_ ,” Arnim Zola said.

The Red Skull laughed.  “I found it almost tragic how close you think you were to freedom.  You think just because you were under S.H.I.E.L.D.’s protection, Hydra doesn’t _own you_ anymore.  Oh, Ms. Maximoff, you _belong_ to Hydra.  You're our puppet. On strings… We control your every action, every thought, every feeling.  Hydra has seeped into every aspect of your life, whether you were aware about it or not.  I promised you that I wouldn’t hurt you or Peter tonight… And I won’t, as long as you tell me what I want to know. Tell me where Scott Lang is Ms. Maximoff.  Tell me what you know about him,” the Red Skull said. He was whispering.  

My breathing hitched.  I’ve been waiting all night for the questions to start.  “I don’t — I don’t know.  My handlers kept me at school when they got Scott Lang.  I never even saw his face.”

“ _Lies_!” The Red Skull hissed, his face red with anger. “Perhaps,” he said, taking a deep breath, “you could use some persuasion.  Crossbones.”

“Don’t mind if I do,” Rumlow sneered.  He got from his chair, wood scraping against the cement floor as he did.  He cracked his knuckles.

“What are you — I’m telling you the truth!” I screamed.  “I don’t know anything! Your stupid Hydra agent _worked_ with Scott Lang! Fucking ask Zola where he is!”

Rumlow ignored me.  I mean, he didn’t even _look_ at me.  He was going straight for Peter.

“No, no!” I screamed, getting out of my chair.

“Hold her down,” Rumlow barked.  The two closest Hydra agents grabbed hold of me and pushed me back into my chair.  Peter’s face was as pale as a ghost, curling into himself in fear.  “This is gonna hurt.”

“Leave him alone!  This has nothing to do with him!” I said, this time more panicked.

Rumlow grabbed Peter by the scruffs of his shirt.  Peter’s eyes bulged as he thrashed against Rumlow’s grip, tight and unbreakable.  And then Rumlow punched Peter in the jaw.  Peter grunted and lost his footing.  Before Peter even crashed to the ground, though, Rumlow backhanded him. Peter tumbled over, his shoulder colliding with the chair. “Stop!” I cried.  I kicked one of the Hydra agents aside and lunged at Rumlow but the other Hydra agent was too strong.  He pulled me back and forced me onto the ground. Looking back at Peter, I watched as kick followed punch, and so on and so on.  A relentless assault.  At first, Peter feebly fought back: he tried to dodge Rumlow, to push back, to stand up for himself.  He had grit but he was only human.  As the beating continued, he just laid on the ground, limp, barely even moaning in pain anymore.

“Stop!” I sobbed. “Stop. I — I — I don’t know anything.”  Rumlow kicked Peter in the chest.  “Please!”

The Red Skull held his hand up.  Rumlow immediately stopped, taking a few steps away from Peter.  He was motionless, eyes barely open, jagged breaths barely escaping his broken body.  Blood was smeared across his face, lip cut open and gushing blood, welts covering his face.  I let out a terrible cry, yanking myself from the two thugs and scrambling toward Peter.  Up close, I could see the tiny scrapes and marks that I missed before.  “Peter,” I whispered, desperate to pull him into my arms but absolutely terrified of hurting him even more. I looked up at Rumlow and the Red Skull.  “This is — how do you think this’ll help?  I — I don’t know anything.  Please, you have to believe me.”

“Oh, I do, Ms. Maximoff,” the Red Skull said. “That’s why you’re being punished.  Let’s try something different, yes?  List our buyers that you and your brother sold out to S.H.I.E.L.D.”

I racked my brain. “I —  there was Mark Evanson.  The American.  The one who wanted the chemical weapons.  And, god, I don’t remember his name but Pietro sold him all those drugs…”

“You’ll have to do better than that Ms. Maximoff,” the Red Skull urged.  “If you don’t want anything to happen to you or your boyfriend, that is.”

“Please,” I begged.  “Pietro had a list of buyers that Natasha and Steve found on his — on his body.  He never showed me.  The only buyers I know about are the ones I saw when Pietro took me with him.  I — I didn’t even learn some of their names!  And you know I’m telling the truth.  You and Strucker always told Pietro to keep Hydra’s business away from me!”

The Red Skull’s twisted smile slipped from his face.  Anger filled his slits for eyes.  “Mr. Barnes, why don’t you take Peter back to his cell? Rumlow,” the Red Skull seethed, to which Rumlow lunged forward, “I believe Ms. Maximoff needs some help _refreshing_ her memory. Do whatever you deem necessary to make her more willing to share.”

Rumlow’s eyes went wide with excitement. “It’ll be my pleasure.”

My blood went cold.  “No, no, please!”

Rumlow grabbed hold of my shoulder and began dragging me out of the dining room.  “You or him, princess!” Rumlow snapped, kicking Peter aside.

“Wanda…” Peter managed through clenched teeth, barely able to even lift his head up. The Winter Soldier was already beside Peter.

“Peter—,” I choked out as Rumlow threw me down the stairs.  Still wearing those stupid heels, sharp, stabbing pain went up the side of my ankle.

“God, shut the fuck up!” Rumlow snapped.

He grabbed my arm and threw me into the bedroom he brought me to before.  My ankle gave out and I crumbled onto the hard floor.  My heart was racing as Rumlow slammed the door behind him.  It felt like the walls to the bedroom were shrinking, trapping me.  Like I was locked in a cage. Years of nightmares that I worked to suppress so diligently was creeping back to the surface.  There was nowhere left to run, nothing to hide behind, nothing to use as a weapon.  Just Rumlow, standing above me, huge and daunting.

Rumlow grabbed me by the scruff of my neck, pulling me off the ground and throwing me onto the bed.  I tried rolling away.  He grabbed hold of my leg, pulling me away from the edge of the bed and closer to the center.  Tears filled my eyes. Rumlow took both my wrists and handcuffed it to the bedframe, tight enough so that every time I tried to move, the cold metal dug into my skin.  Rumlow threw himself on top of me, all two hundred pounds suffocating me, pushing the air out of my body.  As he began kissing and biting my neck, face and lips, tears started pouring down my face.  Rumlow’s fingers, rough and ice-cold, trailed the nape of my neck and my collarbones.  He leaned in closer to my ear.  “Where’s your fucking brother to come save you now?” Rumlow hissed, breath reeking of alcohol and eyes oozing of power.  Sick, twisted, lustful eyes. He pulled his body downward, lips making their way down my chest, hands running over everything else.  His hands snaked their way to my breasts, squeezing and twisting.  I squirmed under his touch. Pulled at the handcuffs to test the strength.  Too strong.

 _Nowhere else to run_.

Using his bare hands, Rumlow yanked the dress apart, ripping it right down the middle, exposing me.  Rumlow’s shaky, drunken hands fumbled with the clasp on my bra.  Frustrated, Rumlow resorted to ripping it off.  I sobbed.  Fucking weak. Useless.  Pietro fought and survived with no one to help him, and I had everyone to help me, but Hydra still found me.  I thought of Steve and Nat and Clint.  Sam, Tony, and Sharon.  They gave up everything for me to live.  

Rumlow pried my legs apart.  I looked away, swallowing the vomit that was rising in my throat as Rumlow began unbuttoning his pants.  He entered me, painful and abrupt.  All those times those men used me in Sokovia made this less physically painful — but what happened in Sokovia was nothing.  Nothing like this.  Those men just wanted cheap sex.  Quick, easy and with no strings attached.  I needed money. Prostitution at its lowest.  But with Rumlow, it was out of the desire to hurt me and satiate his own _hunger_.  I didn’t even care about fighting back anymore.  I just wanted this to be over.  Anything to stop the pain and the suffering.  Now.  I didn’t care if I died.  I was nothing.  Worthless.

Rumlow’s fucking _property._

It didn’t last much longer.  When he climaxed, when every vile thought and lustful wish and disgusting desire was satisfied, Rumlow rolled off of me.  He laid beside me, heaving large breathes.  He buttoned his pants and leaned in closer. “I’ve been waiting a long for that.” He got off the bed, stretching.  “God, if Pietro found out about that…”  Rumlow laughed as he left the bedroom, living me naked and completely exposed, dirty and shivering.

There were a lot of things that Pietro didn’t know about and a lot of things that, if he ever found out about it, would probably kill him.  Dating Peter would have been enough to set Pietro on edge.  But the rape and the assaults and the payments… Pietro would have tortured and killed every single man that ever touched me.  He would have never left me alone.  He would have sobbed and begged at my feet for me to forgive him.  Like it was his fault.  Like _any_ of this was his fault.

The doors burst open again and I let out a horrible sob.  Did Rumlow broadcast that I was here in the bedroom, available to anyone who felt so inclined?  I didn’t even look to see who walked in.  Why does it matter?  I  don’t care what Hydra did to me anymore.  They’ve taken my brother, my life and my family away from me.  The only thing propelling me forward, the only thing stopping me from begging the Red Skull to kill me was Peter.   _I had to get Peter free._

The footsteps grew louder.  I recoiled, shutting my eyes tightly, as if that was a viable defense.  Expecting another grueling man to eagerly take advantage of me, I was thoroughly taken aback when I felt the itchy feel of a wool blanket being casted over me, all the way up to my neck.  I took a breath, more of a sigh of relief.  I opened my eyes, slowly and tentatively.  Bucky — _the Winter Soldier._ His metal fingers grabbed hold of the handcuffs and pried them open, no keys necessary.  Once I was free, I grabbed onto the blanket and wrapped it around me, clinging to it.  I stared into Bucky’s eyes, searching for any scrap of humanity left in him.  But he just scowled as he threw a pile of clothes, my blood-stained jacket and pants, at me.  I didn’t dare reach for my clothes.  It had to be a ploy.  A trap.  

“Forty five minutes,” the Winter Soldier said, gesturing toward the shower.  “No funny business.”

And then he turned away, swept out of this bedroom and out the door, closing and locking it behind me.  Alone.  Not safe but, thankfully, no one there to bother me, look at me, or hurt me anymore than they already have.  Still, I kept the blanket securely around me as I staggered over to the bathroom, gathering my clothes and tucking it under my arms.  Even though I was alone, and even though I was sure the Winter Soldier had no interest in me, I still bolted the bathroom door shut.  Another barrier from _them_ , from Rumlow, even from Bucky.  Not that it mattered anyway.  They could get to me no matter how hard I tried to run from them.  Because they owned me.

 _Don’t think_ , I scolded.  I turned the water on in the shower, and very hot as well. Probably hot enough to burn my skin. Good.  Whatever it takes to get rid of that feeling of Rumlow on me.  I dropped the blanket and stared at myself in the mirror. As I gazed into my reflection, I felt the bile rising in the back of my throat.  I raced toward the toilet, vomiting up whatever little food I had left in my stomach, my throat burning afterwards.  I braved the mirror again, taking in my uneven curves, the mascara-streaked face, the imperfection, the discoloration… _the scars_.  

I got into the shower.  Burning, just like I wanted it.  But even being in the shower, it still felt like I was lying down _chained_ to that bed, and Rumlow’s hands were all over me.  I could still smell the cheap cologne and alcohol on me, in my mouth as he forced his tongue down my throat.  And suddenly, I was rushing to get the shampoo and the bar of soap.  I was scrubbing and scraping at my skin and scalp.  He never left.  Rumlow’s presence was forever engrained on my chest, arms, legs, necks, lips — on me.  Permanent.  Not even a tattoo, but a brand like the girls at dinner.  I shut the water off, my skin bright red now. I pulled my clothes on, fast.  I zipped my jacket up, as high as it could go.  It smelled horrible and the dried blood against my burning, raw skin felt awful, but it covered me.  Even then,  I knew I wouldn’t be protected.  I was losing my footing, curling into myself in the corner of the bathroom. Sobbing.  Gasping for breathe.

The Red Skull was right.  I was Hydra’s puppet.  Available for their use whenever. Able to be controlled.  Strings.  So many strings on me.

There was a thump on the bathroom door. My hands shaking, I wiped my tears and took a deep breathe.  It didn’t do anything to comfort me but at least I wasn’t hyperventilating.  “Time to go,” Bucky — _the Winter Soldier_ — said.  And I listened — not much point in fighting anyway.  I pushed myself off the ground, legs swaying unnaturally as if _strings_ were propelling me forward.  Outside, the Winter Soldier was leaning against the doorframe, his metal arm clenched into a ball. “I need to look at your ribs to make sure it isn’t broken.”

My eyes went wide.  I backed away, hitting the bathroom counter with a thud.  “No, no! I won’t—”

Bucky’s face hardened.  “I’m not interested—” he stopped.  “Fine. _Fine_.  I’ll get you some ice, at least.”

My pulse slowed ever so slightly.  At least he listened.  I followed Bucky quietly out of the bedroom.  Though my ankle was throbbing with every stop, I was desperate to keep up with the Winter Soldier.  Even though he was supposed to be Hydra’s most feared assassin, I felt safest with him.  It wasn’t because I trusted him — he’s a Hydra agent.  How could I ever be safe with a Hydra agent?  It was more because he acted like he was too important, thought too highly of himself to do anything as low as — I felt myself getting woozy again and forced the thoughts back down to the pits of my stomach.  

We stopped in front of another closed door. With one swift motion, the Winter Soldier unlocked the new door and helped me inside.  Another bedroom with the same exterior as the other.  I swallowed hard. _Forget.  Ignore.  It never happened_ … My eyes fell on the bed.  At first, all I saw was the outline of a person in the bed, and it looked terrifyingly like Rumlow.  And then, “Wanda…” someone croaked.  “Wanda, is that you?”

“Peter…” I whispered.  As I staggered forward, the pain in my ankle was excruciating.  He was lying on his back, rigidly stiff, barely able to even crane his head to look at me.  Bruises painted his skin a sickly yellow and purple.  His lips were as puffy as sausages and his left eye was practically glued shut.  But as I looked more closely, I saw that there was ointment on his cuts and even a bag of melted ice on the nightstand.  I looked at Bucky.  “Did you—” He disappeared before I could finish. I looked at Peter.  “Oh god… Peter, I — I’m so sorry.”

“S’okay,” Peter whispered.  “Had worse… Metal Arm gave me some painkillers and some ice… Helped a little…” He tried to move, to get a better look at me.  “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” I said, shakily.  Lying was too easy now.  Such a habit that I didn’t even think twice about.  

“Stop lying to me,” Peter said.  He reached forward, whimpering as he extended his hand.

I saw his hand and then, looking up at Peter’s face, all I saw was Rumlow and his tobacco-stained teeth revealed through a twisted smile.  Rumlow’s face morphed into the face of the old, _dirty_ man from Sokovia, the one I told Natasha about, the one that cornered me in the alleyway.  A flash of terror coupled with an astonishing level of dizziness sent me crumbling backwards, _running_ from the bed until I crashed into the wall.  The mirages disappeared, and all that was left was Peter, head barely raised, looking at me with wide eyes.

“Wanda?”

I ignored him, pushing myself against the wall in fear, gasping.  Rumlow was back again, laughing, throwing his hands around, inviting me to the bed.  I went to the door, shaking the handle fervently but it was locked.

“Wanda?” It was Peter’s voice.  He was trying to lean up from bed but he was so beat up and broken that he collapsed onto the bed again.  “Are you okay?  What did they do to you?”

I was curled in the corner of the room now. “Doesn’t matter,” I whispered.

The door opened wide and I shrieked.  It was just Bucky — wasn’t Rumlow, wasn’t anyone else.  He was holding a fresh bag of ice, a blanket and pillow.

“What the hell did you do to her?” Peter yelled.

Bucky ignored him.  He walked to my side and reached for my ankle.  I pulled away sharply, choking on a sob, but Bucky’s hand didn’t let go. He rolled up the bottom of pants, revealing the red and already bruised ankle.  He examined my ankle, all the while I shut my eyes, tears leaking out.  Bucky pressed the ice to my ankle and then threw the blanket over me.  Soft and warm.  I grabbed hold of it and wrapped it securely around me — another barrier.  Bucky left the pillow beside me and then left without uttering a single word.

“Wanda…” Peter pleaded.  “Talk to me!”

“Please, please don’t ask…”   

I looked over at Peter, eyes wide with concern.  Peter didn’t say anything, just looked away, a little stunned.  I was _so_ selfish to treat Peter that way, shut him out when I knew that Peter just wanted to make sure that I was okay.  It was so wrong to me to think that the last person that touched me was Peter.  Hot and passionate, but still tender.  And then there was Rumlow, the exact opposite.  Peter would never hurt me but everytime I looked over at him, all I saw was Rumlow. All I saw was the collage of men who I’ve worked so hard to forget coming back at once, haunting me.  

The walls Peter helped broke down were back, surrounding me.  How could I ever think that I could be happy with someone, whether that be just a fling or a serious relationship?  I couldn’t have that now or in the future.  Not anymore.  


	22. Steve Rogers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and his team search for Wanda and Peter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story is almost over, just three more chapters left. I hope you're enjoying it so far.
> 
> Thanks you reading!

Chapter Twenty-Two: Steve Rogers

~ December 2005 ~

“I look like a gangly teenager in a dollar-tree suit, Rogers,” my best friend moaned. “How come we’re wearing the same suit but I look like _this_ and you look like James Bond?”

I smiled.  I looked into the mirror and readjusted my tie.  “It’s not my fault I’m just better looking like than you, Buck.”

“I’m becoming you.  Is this how you felt in high school?” Bucky said.

“Pretty much,” I said.  

We were standing in Buck’s bedroom in his childhood home right outside of Brooklyn. It hadn’t changed much since high school, especially since Bucky and I left for training shortly after we graduated.  When we finished training and after our first tour, we spent a couple months back home and then traveled around the country.  Took a nice, long road trip across the country, met a few girls, ran into some old friends from high school, and even met up with Bucky’s younger sister when we were in Chicago. There was never time to redecorate Bucky’s bedroom and everything from high school was still here: the comics perched on Bucky’s desk, the same dirty magazines Bucky hid his closet (and blamed me when his father found them), and the mattress under Bucky’s bed was reserved just for me.  A second home for me when I was kid and once both my parents died, that shabby little bed and this tiny little room was practically my _real_ home.  

Firmly believing that we spend too much time in bars and playing video games, Mrs. Buchanan gave Bucky and me tickets to some art gala.  We didn’t really want to go and these expensive suits were restrictive and uncomfortable, but Mrs. Buchanan spent her money on it and we already said that we would go. She helped find some nice suits for the two of us to wear and paid extra to get us a parking spot in the cramped parking lot.  We didn’t put up much of a fight, and now we were roped into going.  Bucky was more exasperated about it than I was.

It was a pretty far drive to get to Manhattan where this art show was going on so we had to leave extra early; it wasn’t even at a real museum. Some rich guy with too much money rented out a few floors in this massive skyscraper complex and put his art collection on display, probably just to show off how more money he had.  On the way there, Bucky was famished and figured whatever food that would be served was probably meant for the bourgeoisie so he pulled over at Wendy’s, Buck’s favorite place to eat in high school.  I tried to stay away from that kind of food. “I’m already assuming the role of ugly stepbrother,” Bucky said, taking a huge bite out of his burger.  “I feel like I need something to make me feel better about myself.”

“And you think a burger from Wendy’s is gonna make you less of my ugly stepbrother?” I laughed.

Bucky just punched me in the arm.

We pulled into the parking lot of the art gala a few minutes later.  Just as I expected, we drove past high-end, ridiculously ostentatious cars that gleamed in the distant sunlight.  Men and women, dressed in expensive-looking suits, made our rented, second-hand tuxes look more humble than they really were.  Bucky parked his car next to a porsche, and when we got out, he looked down at his 1976 Volkswagen Beetle sheepishly. Sure, it was second-hand and needed some sort of repair every months, but this car was a symbol of our friendship.  One that Bucky and I weren’t ready to part with.  All the times we drove across the country together on our spontaneous road trips, or the times that Bucky let me borrow it when I was trying to get with a girl at Lover’s Roof, this stupid little rooftop of an abandoned building that everyone at our high school went to on dates.  These little tokens of our friendship didn’t mean much to us during high school but after our active service in the army together, everything from our past became just a little more important.  

“It’s alright, bud,” I said, pulling Bucky away from the luxury cars that he stared at them longingly.  

“One of these days, I’m gonna buy myself a Jaguar.  A big green one, too.  You and I will go somewhere in the country and hit 100 on that baby,” Bucky said.

“You can barely afford meals at 4-star restaurants. Keep dreaming pal,” I said as we made our way out of the parking lot.

“Keep talking like that and I’m gonna drive your ass out of Brooklyn and leave you in New Jersey,” Bucky said.

I groaned.  “Don’t even joke about havin’ to live there, Buck.”

We made our way out of the parking garage and into the open New York December air. It was miserably cold outside and the suits we were wearing barely kept us warm.  We eagerly rushed across the busy intersection to the huge skyscraper across the street with bright red signs, indicating that we were in the right place.  We got into a long line where we stood behind socialites complaining about the weather; Bucky and I mocked them in whisper.  Once we were at the front of the line, Bucky showed our tickets and we were let past the red ropes and into security. After going through a metal detector, Bucky and I stopped to stare in disbelief at our surroundings. Three levels high with a stunning, glittering chandelier overtop and marble floors, I had to admit we were in an absolutely beautiful building.  On one side of the main floor were tables covered with hor d'oeuvres, an ice sculpture in the center that I recognized to be a rendition of Venus de Milo (I do know _some_ art). Waiters with platters of strong smelling appetizers and even stronger smelling glasses of champagne approached the rich guests tentatively. Paintings that neither Bucky nor I knew of lined the walls; the most expensive ones were hidden behind a glass case and roped off.  While there was a mass of people filing into the art gala, the building was so open it felt empty.  A string quartet was playing classical music in the background.  This type of music was never Bucky’s cup of tea but when I was younger, my mom would always play Bach or Mozart.  It was soothing.

Bucky picked up one of the programs from the information desk.  “This looks like a lot of fun,” he said, flipping through the pages. “I don’t recognize half of these names, Stevie.”

I glanced at the program.  “Neither do I…”  I sighed, “Come on, pal.  Let’s not let an art museum scare us.”  

I put my hand on Bucky’s shoulder and together, we ventured on toward the beginning of the art gala.  We didn’t linger on any painting, especially since we didn’t know a thing about any of the artists or what really made some of these paintings so spectacular.  The evening ended up being Bucky and I glancing at paintings, making fun of some of them and the people looking at it, and then moving on.  It was exhausting, which felt even worse when he realized there were three floors.  Halfway through the art gala, Bucky and I settled into some chairs on the upper floor, ready for a break.

“Are you sure we can’t just leave now?” Bucky asked.

“No, no,” I insisted.  “Your mother wanted us to see the entire thing so we’re going to try to see the entire thing, Buck.”

“But I’m tired…” Bucky said.

I rolled my eyes.  “I’ll get us some champagne, how about that?”

“Preferably something strong,” Bucky said as I got up.

I walked over to the waiters. Absent-mindedly, I glanced at a couple of the paintings as I walked to the waiter, who was lingering near the staircases.  I picked up a glass of champagne for Bucky and then another for myself, and as I did, I felt my fingers brush against something soft and warm.  I looked up.  It was a woman peering at me, fingers touching the same wine glass that I had reached for.  My breath was taken away the minute that I caught sight of her.  Absolutely beautiful with light skin that glowed and long locks of brown, wavy hair framing her delicate face.  She had round brown eyes;  when she blinked, looking at me through long thick lashes, her eyes looked even beautiful, like there was actual diamonds making her pupils glow the way it did.  She had a pointed nose and round lips lathered in red lipstick, her teeth white in comparison.  And her dress.  The bardot lace neckline, exposing her clavicle, and the way that the silver fabric tightly wrapped around her hips and curves was enough to make me drool.  Full-figured, a perfect form that would make supermodels pale in comparison.  The woman looked at me with a wide, welcoming smile and I felt like all I could do right now was look back at her dumbly.

“Uh, sorry miss,” I said, shaking my head slightly, but I was still dumbfounded.  “Um, uh, here.”  I gave her the glass of champagne, and her small red nail-polished fingers wrapped around the stem of the wine glass.

“Thank you,” she said.  The woman had a strong British accent.  “Are you enjoying yourself?”

“Uh, yeah,” I said.

“And your favorite artist is?” The woman asked.  She didn’t sound skeptical, just curious.

“Um…” I trailed off.

The woman just laughed. “Pardon my saying this but you don’t really strike me as someone who would be spending their time an art museum, especially with you friend over there.”  She pointed to Bucky, who was now lounging on the chair, flirting with two girls (I could tell because Bucky had on his flirting face).

I chuckled.  “This isn’t really our scene. But what about you?  What’s a beautiful dame like yourself doing here on a Saturday night? No — no, woman.  Person.  I don’t know why — I mean, you are beautiful but…”  I stopped.  My face was probably redder than her lipstick right now.  All I had to do was say sorry and then leave, yet I choose to stick around and make myself look foolish.

I was glad when the woman just laughed. “You have no idea how to talk to a woman, do you?”

I sighed.  “In my defense, I’m in the military so I don’t see a lot of women on a day to day basis, and the one’s that I do see, I’m a little frightened of.”

“Why is that?”

“They could probably kick my ass pretty soundly,” I admitted, and she laughed. “What’s your name, miss?”

“Peggy Carter. And what’s your name, soldier?”  Peggy said.

“Steve Rogers, ma’am,” I said, holding me hand out and smiling.

“Steve,” she repeated, her voice like an angel.  “Steve… Steve…” she kept saying. Her voice was changing.  And then —

* * *

~ PRESENT DAY ~

“STEVE!” Someone shouted, a woman. _Natasha_.

My eyes peeled open the moment I identified who was speaking.  I was blinded at first, bright lights blaring down on me like a spotlight.  Then, as my sight returned, I oriented myself, taking in my surroundings: it wasn't ten years ago, I wasn't in an art museum and Peggy wasn’t still alive.  I was in the underground base, lying on the ground, my right shoulder and my chest in searing pain.  Weakly trying to get up, I felt Natasha’s hands grip onto my shoulder and on the small of my back, easing me forward.  I looked around.  Blood was everywhere, on my vest, my shirt, coated in my hair and crusted and dried up on my hands.  Natasha was in the same condition: her uniform soaked, hair disheveled and what looked like a bullet hole in her chest.  Sam and Tony were standing over me, again covered in blood, looking very weak and disoriented.  I tried to stand up, but my head was throbbing so much that I nearly collapsed onto the ground.

“Easy now,” Natasha warned.  She helped me sit down again, pressing her hand on my back.  She gave me a glass of water and I took it.

Everything came back to me, abruptly, intensely.  Melinda May and her team were supposed to meet us at the underground base, at least that’s what Nick Fury said would happen.  Tony was monitoring the security cameras the entire time and he saw a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent approaching the doorway.  It wasn’t just some mistake that Tony made — Natasha even went to check the surveillance cameras herself and confirmed Melinda May’s identity.  Sam went to get the door… and then hell broke loose.  It was Bucky, firing his gun without even sparing a glance in my direction.  Sam went down first, tripping and tumbling down the staircase.  Then Tony.  Nat.  I reached for the gun, yelled for Sharon to get Wanda and Peter out.  The last thing that I remembered was catching hold of Nat and then my shoulder exploded in agony.  I tried to look for Wanda, Peter and Sharon but I could hardly crane my neck around to see Natasha’s face.  My head was throbbing too much for me to think, to comprehend what was happening — or why we were alive.

“We’re just waiting on Sharon to wake up now,” Natasha said.  She put the glass of water to my lips again and I drank what was left.  “Are you okay?  Do you need medical attention?”

I shook my head.  “What — what happened?  How… What time is it?”

“It’s nighttime, Steve.  It’s the day after the dance.  We’ve been asleep for a while now,” Natasha filled in.

Natasha looked up at Tony and Sam.  Sam went to my side, grabbed me by the arm and eased me up to a chair.  The world was spinning around me as the nausea, heavy and unbearable, set in.  I took a couple breaths and then asked again, “I watched you fall down the stairs, Sam.  And you two get shot.  And where’s Sharon?  What do you mean ‘wake up?’” I stopped talking. The questions were too much for me to handle and I let out a pained, heavy sigh as I fought the urge to throw up.  “And where’s Wanda and Peter?”

“Steve…” Natasha started.  She grabbed hold of my hand, and my heart fell.  “Steve, Wanda and Peter are gone.”

It was like my entire world was crumpling to the ground, like the floor beneath me was splintering open and I was free-falling. Like Bucky did.  Like one long nightmare that I couldn’t be free from.  All the promises I told Wanda were playing in my head again and again. _We’d protect you.  I won’t let Hydra hurt you_.  A bunch of fucking lies.  Wanda trusted me and I failed her.  We all failed her, and we failed Peter, too.  

“No, no,” I said, standing up, reeling.  “No! I promised her—…”

I couldn’t finish my sentence.  I was enraged now, my blood boiling beneath my skin.  I felt disgusted and sick to my stomach.  It was worse knowing that Pietro had trusted Natasha and me to protect his little sister.  The note he left on his person, the one that Natasha and I found when the mortician was doing his autopsy.  A list of buyers, of the Hydra agents he worked with and a brief description of each person. And known locations of Hydra bases. S.H.I.E.L.D. has gotten lucky a few times when it came to finding out identities and names, but nothing like that.  It was our big break.  Pietro allowed us to get testimonies incriminating the Red Skull and other Hydra agents and bases where we could steal information.  We never found the Red Skull — he was never around when Nat and I raided bases but we took what we can.  He also left us with Wanda, pleaded on the back of this list that we take care of his sister, that we make _her_ our first priority, not taking down Hydra.  Give her the life that she hasn’t had the chance to live.   I vowed to fulfill his dying wish.  And I _failed_.

“I know,” Natasha said.  She gripped my arms.  “I know, Steve.  We _all_ know what we promised Wanda.”

I was still doubtful, especially doubtful that Wanda and Peter were still alive, but I had to focus, block out every terrible thought I was thinking in the back of my head.  Wanda needed me to focus.  “How are we still alive? Bucky shot us.”

“They were blanks Steve,” Tony said.  “Hell, they were hardly even real bullets.  Just little balls strong enough to break our skin when it made contact and coated with Tetrodotoxin B.”

My head was spinning.  “With — with what?” I sputtered.

“Tetrodotoxin B,” Natasha clarified.  “It was a drug that S.H.I.E.L.D. created awhile back under Nick Fury’s orders.  It slows the heart rate to one beat per minute.  You can’t last long on it but it’s enough to put you to sleep and make it real convincing that you’re dead.  Hydra must have replicated it — or gotten their hands on it, I don’t know how… You’ll have some nasty bruises and maybe be a little weak but other than that, you’re fine.”

“And you’re sure it’s that?” I asked.

Natasha nodded.  “I can tell by the smell.”

I didn’t comprehend what Natasha was saying.  It was so mind-numbingly confusing.  “Why would a Hydra assassin shoot us with blanks?”

“Maybe he had orders to kill us but he didn’t want to hurt his friend,” Sam offered.

I bit down on my bottom lip.  I wanted to believe that. Really, I did.  I wanted to think that maybe there _was_ some humanity left in my best friend.  But it just didn’t add up.  Bucky wasn't James Barnes, anymore.  James Barnes wouldn’t join an international mob and wouldn’t become an assassin.  The Bucky I knew wouldn’t have shot Natasha in Odessa so violently, so cruelly.  James Buchanan Barnes was dead and replaced with the Winter Soldier, a completely different identity in the same shell as my best friend.  Whatever reason the Winter Soldier had behind using blanks and this Tetro something-or-other wasn’t because he was looking out for me.

“You alright, Cap?” Tony asked, putting his arm on my shoulder.

“Where’s Sharon?” I said again. 

“She’s alive, if that’s what you’re concerned about,” Natasha said. “In the infirmary. She’s still out cold.”

I nodded, taking a seat again.  “And the blood?” I asked, looking around at the red-strained floor.  “It looks like real blood.”

“That’s because it is,” Tony said.  “It’s _all_ real blood, Steve.  Your friend must have hosted a blood drive to get this much.  He doused us with someone else’s blood to make it look like he actually shot us. Disgusting.  I’m gonna need to shower for four hours after this.”

Why?  Why?   _Why?!_ Why did Bucky care so much?  Why did he put on such a charade to make it look like he killed us?  I didn’t want to let myself think that Buck was still in there.  I took a deep breath.  I couldn’t think about Bucky anymore.  I had to focus on the mission, on my promise to Pietro. “We need to find Wanda,” I said.  I was stating the obvious really but it gave me something to hone in on.  “Tony, pull up her tracking device.  There has to be something—”

Tony shook his head.  “Hydra cut down our computers, and it’ll take too long to reboot the system.  I’ll have to get back to my place.  It’ll take some time, Steve.”

Time that we don’t have.  I nodded.  “Okay, okay.  Fury needs to know about this. Someone needs to notify Fury…”

“Let me,” Natasha said.  “No offense but he does like me the best so maybe you should leave delivering the bad news to me.”

“Thank you…” I said, taking a couple deep breathes; that was one less awful thing I had to take care of.  “There has to be something else that we can do.  We had a billion different ways to track and find Wanda and… her cell phone.  Tony, can her track her cellphone?”

“Not without working equipment, Steve,” Tony admitted.  “Once I get back to my place—”

“That’s not fucking good enough!” I yelled. Tony looked away.  “I’m sorry, Tony.  It’s just—”

“You don’t need to apologize, Cap,” Tony said.  He put his arm on my shoulder and patted it, comfortingly.  “We’re gonna find her, Steve.  Fury didn’t assign the greatest soldier in history and the world’s scariest spy to this case for nothing.”  Tony’s words were kind but it didn’t make me feel better. His confidence in me only gave me more expectations I wouldn’t be able to live up to.  “Have you tried searching her room?  Or gone through her clothes?  You could check the school, too."

“We’ll check it out.  Besides, we probably need to go back to the school and clean it up before people from school find Banner's classroom trashed,” Sam said.  

“Nat, why don’t you stay here and fill in Sharon when she wakes up?” Steve said.

Natasha agreed and went into the infirmary to wait with Sharon while she called Fury. Tony took his car from the garage and went off to Stark Tower to try to locate Wanda (no one was happy with Tony going by himself but his security was extensive and, fortunately, Hydra already thought he was dead).  Sam and I stayed in silence as we prepped ourselves to go to the school. Guns.  Vests.  Badges.  Knives.  Extra weapons.  A checklist in my head that I went through every time I was about to go on an active mission.  I fiddled with the gun in my hand for a couple minutes, staring at the safety, the trigger, the barrel and then my eyes dropping to the extra bullets I was bringing.  Like any of this helped us against Hydra.  I shoved the gun into the holster, bitterly.  Sam and I walked in silence to the parking garage, keeping our heads down, looking away from any security cameras. We were dead, and we planned to stay that way.  We hotwired a random car parked in the lot and I made a promise to myself to return it hopefully before the owner notice.

J.A.R.V.I.S. drove us back to the high school.  It was empty.  There were no cars in the parking lot, and no lights were on. Tony was back at the Stark Tower already and he connected over comms the minute the systems were up and running.  He checked the high school security cameras we set up and, just as the parking lot suggested, there was no one left in the building.  We parked out back, snaking our way through the outdoor cafeteria. Using his staff key, Sam unlocked the back door and led me inside.  He was breathing loudly; I could see the sweat building up on his browline, even though we were the only ones in the high school.  I knew why he was nervous: Sam rarely goes on active missions anymore.  Side effects from the army.  I use active field duty as a way to distract myself from my failures as a commanding officer and Sam stays away from active field duty because it _reminds him_ of his failure.  

If it wasn’t for Sam, I would have gotten lost in this massive, winding high school. He knew the fastest, easiest way to get to the classroom.  The door wasn’t locked — the entire classroom hadn’t even been touched since we were last there.  The desks were still flipped to the side, sidearms still strewn about the floor and… I stopped short.  I picked up the silver, beat up mask of the Winter Soldier and the blacked-out goggles.  It looked like a costume, the kind of costume that Bucky would have worn to a Halloween party back when we were younger.  It couldn’t be Bucky’s uniform.

“Steve,” Sam said, his voice cutting high and clear over my thoughts. “Steve.”

He walked to my side, glancing at the mask but not saying anything.  He held out of his hand and in it, Wanda’s cell phone.  I took it from his hands, despair and anguish filling my heart and my head.  A part of me knew that there was no chance Wanda’s phone would led us to her — it couldn’t be that easy for us, but the other part of me still cling onto any scrap of hope that life offered us.  Looking down at her cell phone, I felt disgustingly angry.  

“Shit!” I yelled.  “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” I kicked a desk aside and it came clattering to the ground.  I looked at her phone.  Her friends, Michelle and Ned, texted her about twenty times each, demanding to know where they were and the more recent their texts were, the more terrified they sounded.  It was worse when I saw Aunt May’s name and her fifteen missed calls. “Goddamn it!” I screamed again.  Tears were dripping down my face.  I hadn’t been this upset, this heartbroken since Peggy.  I hadn’t felt so goddamn helpless in a while.

“Steve…” Sam started.  

Sam reached forward, putting his hands on my shoulders but I was past being calm, past trying to keep myself from panicking. I kicked another desk, yelled out in anger, stomped on the _Winter Soldier’s_ goggles. Glass shattered, metal and plastic splintered across the classroom floor.  The brutality didn’t make me feel any better.   _Failure, failure, failure._  

“Steve,” Sam said, again.

“They’re gonna kill her, Sam!” I yelled.  It was the first time I let myself think about what was going to happen Wanda.  “They’re going to kill Peter — or they’re going to do worse.”

Sam rubbed his temples.  “Steve, we can’t think like that.”

“And telling ourselves that we’ll find Wanda is better?”  I spat.

Sam’s eyes softened. “Freaking out like this isn’t going to help her, either.  You know Wanda’s a tough kid, and she’s smart, too. She’ll find a way to keep herself alive long enough for us to find her.  Because when Captain America makes a promise, Captain America doesn’t break it, right?”  More goddamn expectations, but I knew Sam was just trying to help.  “Let’s go back to the base," he continued, "We’ll meet up with Nat.”

“Right…” I said, pocketing Wanda’s cell phone and following Sam outside. “Let's put the classroom back together first.  Get rid of the evidence.”

“Right, that was my idea... must not be thinking straight,” Sam said.

He and I divided the classroom.  We bagged up the sidearms, turned the desks right side up and made sure the rows were in line properly.  I swept up the remains of the Winter Soldier’s goggles, kicking myself the entire time over the bigger mess I created. There were small traces of blood on the ground so we got paper towels from the sink and scrubbed the floor. When we finished, the classroom looked moderately put together.  But when Sam’s back was turned, I kept hold of the Winter Soldier’s materials, gripping them tightly.  I hid it in the folds of my jacket, away from Sam.  Of course, I needed to remove traces of Hydra’s presence in the classroom but a part of me still felt like I didn’t want Sam to know I took the Winter Soldier’s belongings. I followed Sam to the parking lot again and he drove us back to the underground base in silence, looking out the window anxiously. Sam was bouncing his foot up and down and wringing his hands together. Looking up at his face, all I saw was despair.  All the options we set up to find Wanda were starting to slip away, crack underneath us.

Hydra was rising, and Hydra was winning.

Inside the underground base, it felt just as hopeless and dreadful as it was out in the car.  Tony was back from Stark Towers with new computers strewn around on tables. Natasha pacing around uncomfortably and uneasily, glancing over at whatever Tony was doing and then looking down at her watch the following moment.  Sharon was perched in a chair beside Tony, hardly moving and sipping slowly from a glass of water.  When Sam and I walked inside, they all jumped, reaching for their guns; even Tony made a leap for the nine millimeter closest to him.  They all looked terrible, badly shaken and absolutely exhausted. Bloodstains and bruises and the likes.  Tony looked the worst.  It was so out of place to see him dressed in a filthy vest and dress pants, a stark contrast to his normally clean physique.  They stowed their weapons as they realized it was Sam and me.

“Oh, it’s just you,”  Tony said.  He let out a heavy sigh, his shoulders drooping slightly. “I see you found Wanda’s phone at the high school…”  

I scoffed.  “We put about a hundred different contacts on her phone so that if something like this happened, we could find and — and _nothing_.” I threw the phone onto the ground.  “Stupid fucking thing… What about the tracker in her molar?  You get anything from that?”

“It’s still going through satellites. Like I said, it’ll take a little bit of time to reboot the system… Give me another five minutes,” Tony said, leaning over the computers more intently.  

“Right,” I said, taking a deep breathe. “There’s a couple other things that I’d like for you to check — if you don’t mind.”

“Anything,” Tony said.

I pulled out the mask, the cold metal mask and set it in front of Tony.  Tony straightened up, looking up from the computer and gazing at the mask.  “I just — I need you to run some tests, or get someone to do it.  There has to be some dead skin or blood or something — DNA, Tony.  I need you to get some DNA strands off that mask and check with the military’s DNA Registry to see if it — to see if it really is him.” Of course it was him… I knew that voice and I knew those eyes but I was praying that it was just an imposter.  Hydra would do something as cruel as taunt me with Bucky’s death. Maybe… “If you can’t access the registry then contact Fury.  Have him pull some strings.”

“Is that really what you want, Steve?” Natasha asked.

I nodded.  “Yeah.  I need to know, Nat. Some confirmation would nice.”

“And what sort of confirmation are you looking for?” She probed, voice steady.  

“I don’t know…” I whispered, leaning against the table.  And I really didn’t know. If the results came back negative, it would mean Bucky is dead.  Really dead.  I already mourned his death and I’ve already _worked_ to get past it but this just opened up wounds, set me back.  On the other hand, if the results came back positive, it would probably feel worse than Bucky dying again.  If the Winter Soldier really was Bucky, that would mean my friend betrayed the values he once had and joined Hydra. That would mean my friend just kidnapped two seventeen-year-olds and brought them to the most dangerous, most vile group of people known to S.H.I.E.L.D.  And it would mean that Bucky was responsible for dozens of assassinations, for wreaking havoc in already war-torn societies.  He wasn’t protecting anyone anymore by stopping evil.  He was the demon that needed to be stop.  “I really — I just need to know, Nat.  Closure.  You understand that, right?”

“Steve, no matter what the results are, it’ll be painful,” Natasha said.

“Well, I’m used to pain,” I said.  “I’ve lived through it already.”

My words hung in the air and then Sam chuckled.  “You’re always so dramatic.”

“Worse than me sometimes,” Tony muttered.  Tony grabbed the mask from my hands.  “J.A.R.V.I.S. and I will run some tests on this…”

“In the meantime, let’s talk,” Natasha said. She grabbed my hand and brought me into the spare bedroom.  The last people in here were Peter and Wanda, and I hadn't knowing that.  The beds were lived in; Wanda’s gun was thrown across the room. “ _Sit_ ,” Natasha said, very seriously.  I did what I was told. Natasha stood before me, her small frame intimidating even though I had at least hundred pounds of her and more than half a foot on her.  “Steve… Steve, you’re scaring me right now.”

Not what I expected. Not _at all_ what I thought was going to come out of Natasha’s mouth.  She knelt down before me.  “What do you mean?” I asked.

“Fury and I were talking—”

“Because all good things start with ‘Fury and I were talking,’” I said, bitterly.

Natasha bit down on her lip.  “Steve, I’m being serious right now.  Fury and I aren’t sure if you — if you can handle being on the field with the Winter Soldier being there, too.  It’s not your fault.  None of this is your fault… It’s just, Fury says he doesn’t want to risk the asset’s life if you freeze again in the field and…”

“And what?!” I said, bitterly.

“And I don’t want you out there if you freeze up again because I don’t want you getting hurt,” Natasha said, choking up on her last word.  Tears in her eyes, just like the time at Barton’s house.  Pain under a well-built facade that’s taken me years and countless dangerous missions to get past. She grabbed my hands, pulling her face just inches from mine.  “Please, please, if you think you won’t be able to fight because of your friend, _don’t_.  Not because we don’t want you to risk the mission but because I don’t want to lose you.   _I can’t lose you_.”

“Nat, _Natasha_ ,” I said. “I’m not gonna leave you.  I won’t do that to you…”  Maybe it was wrong for me to promise her something like that.  A S.H.I.E.L.D. agent could never ensure their life but I didn’t care.  I pressed my hand against Natasha’s neck and gently pressed a kiss on the crown of her head. “We’re going to find her, Wanda.  I’m not gonna rest until I do.” She looked up to me under her lashes, thick and beautiful. Then, her hands, soft but still shaking, brushed against my cheeks lightly.  She was pulling herself closer to me now, lips on mine before I could even wrap my brain around what was going on. It was quick, light, but I could feel her touch still lingering on my lips.  “Nat…” I whispered. But she interrupted me.  Lips on mine again.  “Natasha, what are you…” _What was I doing_?  A beautiful woman who I loved so goddamn much as a friend, as an agent, as a woman, as everything I could want was kissing me and I’m trying to get her to stop.  She and Peggy were so similar: open-minded but very headstrong, independent with dignified grace and poise. I was kissing her back now. “Nat…” I whispered again when she pulled away.

“It’s okay,” she whispered.  “I know this isn’t right…”

“No, no!” I said. “This is right, this is perfect, this is everything… It’s just, we have to talk about it.  We’re partners, Nat. You and I both know how dangerous it is for…” Words were failing for me.  The only thing I could think of was her lips. “We — we need to focus on Wanda.”

“Right…” Natasha said, biting down on her lip and pulling away from me.  “Wanda… But this isn’t — this _can’t_ be over, right?”

“No,” I said, firmly.  “I don’t want this to be over…” I meant it.  I hadn’t felt this way about someone in a long time.  I pulled away from Natasha slightly, still longing for our kiss to continue.  I tried forcing those thoughts out of my mind (damn near impossible) and asked Natasha, “What did Fury say?  How did he react?”

“Well, he didn’t act outwardly pissed,” Natasha admitted.  “It could have been worse… I don’t know what happened when I sent out a message to Fury.  Hydra must have overrode our comms, gone through our security systems because they intercepted the message.  Fury had no idea Hydra found us… Melinda May and her team are on their way _now_.”  She sat down on the edge and sighed.  “Steve, we both thought we were doing everything right and Hydra played us like a pack of fucking cards.  It’s just—”

The door opened up: Tony.  “Hope I’m not interrupting anything.  I got geographical coordinates.”  He handed me a piece of paper with the coordinates printed on it.  “I tracked it to some random street.  This is where the molar is.”

I took the piece of paper and read it a couple of times before showing it to Nat, Sam and Sharon.  “Okay, okay… We’re all going on this.  This place might be a Hydra hotbed and I don’t wanna risk not having everyone on the raid.”  I looked over at Tony.  “You’re going to come, too.  Be our eyes and ears.  You’ll stay in the car, keep monitoring the tracking device in case it moves.”  

“Of course,” Tony said.  

We were already dressed in our uniforms and, other than getting a fresh vest, there wasn’t much else that we needed to do. Our guns were already prepped.  Nat’s Widow’s Bites were charged and ready to go.  Tony’s computers were fully charged. Then we were finished, packed completely and all that was left was driving to the coordinates.  But even though we had everything we needed, we were far from prepared, far from emotionally and mentally ready to face whatever was waiting for us at the GPS coordinates.  If it was a Hydra hotbed, that could mean casualties.  I was scared of losing everyone for all different reasons: Sam because of our long-standing history together after years in the military; Sharon was just a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent trying to do the right and just got stuck in some unlucky, bullshit assignment; Tony, since he really was only here for his unbelievable computer talent and intelligence and had absolutely nothing to do with S.H.I.E.L.D.; and Nat because, god, I loved her and it hurt me just thinking about her in pain.  But it also boiled down to one simple reason: they were family.  

And then, on the opposite side of the spectrum, there was the possibility that this wasn’t a Hydra base…  Which meant Wanda was still out there, which meant that we weren’t close to finding her.

It was a long drive.  J.A.R.V.I.S. and Tony monitored the coordinates the entire time and also to make sure that little to no security cameras caught glimpses of us driving; we weren’t sure if Hydra was monitoring security cameras and we didn’t want to risk exposure.  Tony was working overtime, going through anything and everything that could lead us to Wanda. Something to take his mind off of things probably.  The rest of us had nothing of the sorts.  I let myself wallow in my thoughts. Couldn’t help it.  I already lost Peggy, probably Bucky no matter what the DNA results turn out to be.  I’m not losing Wanda, and I’m not letting Peter’s family and friends lose him too.  No more losing against Hydra.  I looked over Nat, and I could see the same rage I had in her eyes as well.  I reached over to grab her hand and in the same instant, she reached for mine.  Her hand was trembling slightly, and I felt even angrier.  

“If Hydra kills Wanda or Peter, so help me god I’m gonna beat every single Hydra agent we see to death…” I started. 

“Ten bucks says I can do worse,” Nat whispered.

I smiled.  “I prefer not losing anymore bets with you.”

“Good choice, Rogers,” she said again.  She went back to looking at the window, but her fingers stayed wrapped around my own.  

When the car came to a stop, the five of us took a long solemn look at each other.  I didn’t let myself think for a second about how bad things could go.  I turned to Tony. “What are you seeing, Tony?  How many people are out there?”

He typed a few things into his computer and then started shaking his head, unhappily.  “Nothing.  I see nothing. There’s no one out there, Steve.”

“Are you sure the coordinates are coming from here?” Nat asked.

Tony nodded.  “Confident.”

My face fell.  If there were no thermals, that would mean whatever's outside would be disappointing.  “Okay.  Okay,” I said, shaking my heads, nervously.  I had to be calm, keep myself together for the sake of my team.  I'm used to stowing away my own fear and terror — being the lead on this mission, it was my job.  “Stay alert. Hydra already got us once and we’re not going to let them trick us again.  I’ll go out first, check out the area, and then you three can follow me on my word.  Tony, keep checking thermals and tel me if anyone shows up.  You guys ready?”

Nat shrugged.  “Let’s just get this over with.”

My heart was racing as I pulled the car door open.  The hair on my arms standing straight up, I dropped out of the car, landing lightly on my two feet to avoid making any loud noises.  I stayed close to the vehicle, even though there was nothing to cover me — and no one from which I needed to hide.  We were parked along the side of a nearly deserted highway, a rarity in the state of New York.  I was standing underneath a shabby-looking bridge perched over a fast moving river.  A perfect place to throw a body that would never be recovered.  “It’s cleared out…” I said and then trailed off.  My eyes spotted something on the dirt ground.  I identified blood immediately.  A lot of it pooled up on the ground and also multiple footsteps.  Small footsteps that I assumed was either Wanda’s or Peter’s and the rest  _very large_  footsteps.  Hydra men.  At least four judging by the different imprints.

“Steve?” Natasha said.  She was standing right behind me.  “Oh my god… Is that…”

“Blood,” I finished for her.  Sam and Sharon were already out the door and when they caught sight of what Nat and I were looking at, they gasped.  I knelt down beside it, looking more closely when I saw… “Fuck.” Using a small plastic bag that I kept in the pocket of my vest, I picked up a tooth.  A molar that I immediately recognized as a S.H.I.E.L.D. tracker — the one we put in Wanda.  

“What is that, Steve?” Sharon asked.

“Fuck.  Fuck.  _Damn it!”_ I handed it to Natasha, my head spinning.

“Shit,” Natasha said.  “They must have known the tooth was a fake.”

“So the bastards ripped it out of her mouth?” Sam gaped.

“Steve…” Sharon whispered.  

She was hovering near the edge of the highway where tire prints had reeled out of here so fast it left skid marks.  I went to her side as she held out a pair of pliers, dirty, rusty, blood-stained pliers.  I moaned, agonized as though I could feel everything that Wanda felt when they… “I’m gonna burn these assholes alive when I find them,” Sam said, coming to stand next to Sharon and me and taking the pliers from Sharon.  I hadn’t seen Sam this angry since Riley.  It was so _unnatural_ and foreign to me for Sam to have this kind of a reaction. He was supposed to be the calm one, the responsible one when I couldn’t fulfill that role.

Natasha came to join us.  “Dibs on Rumlow.”

“Get in line,” I muttered, shutting the zip lock bag containing Wanda’s tooth and putting the pliers into another.  I pocketed both and led my team back into the car. Tony had his head in his hands when we walked inside.

“D — did they really take her tooth out with those pliers?” Tony muttered.

I winced.  “Yeah, yeah, they did.”

J.A.R.V.I.S. drove us back.  While we’ve been silent almost the entire time Wanda’s been missing, this silence now felt different, heavier.  All the options we had to find Wanda were dwindling quickly.  We were already terrified for Wanda and Peter but this new found fear that was setting in was completely different, a million times more jarring.  Hope was keeping us from pushing our bodies past the physical pain and the exhaust.  All for Wanda.  Now that we kept hitting dead end after dead end, hope was gone.   _You’re not going to find Wanda. She’s going to die because you can’t do your job_.  Captain America, right?  What good am I now for the one person who needed me the most?  It’s either she and Peter are halfway across the country or they’re both dead… Right now, based upon the amount of blood and horror that I just saw under that bridge, a part of me was wishing they were both dead.

“Steve?” Tony asked, interrupting my thoughts.  “Steve?”

“Yeah?” I said, looking over at him.

Tony held up his phone.  “It’s May.  She’s called me about twenty times.”  I cringed and hated myself even more for not thinking about Peter’s family.  “C’mon, Steve.  It’s 7:30 in the morning right now. May’s probably worried sick.  We have to give her something.”

“You should tell her,” Nat said quietly.

I looked over at my partner.  “What?”

Natasha met my eyes, even angrier, even more terrifying than I’ve ever seen her before.  “She deserves to know the truth.”

“Hydra will kill her,” I said.  “Fury will never approve it.”

“Fury already did approve it,” Natasha admitted.  “I didn’t tell this to you before but I asked him what he wanted us to do with Peter’s family.  I pushed for May to know the truth and he agreed.  It’d only make things worse if we lie to May.”

“Right,” I said, slowly, unsurely.  How good would it be if we tell May the truth and Peter still ends up dying?  All it will do is put her danger.  “Okay.  If Fury thinks that’s what we should do then, alright, let’s do it. Maybe Tony and I should be the ones to do it.”

“Agreed,” Natasha said.

“J.A.R.V.I.S., you have Peter’s apartment address programmed in?” Tony asked.

“Yes, Mr. Stark,” J.A.R.V.I.S. said.

“Good.  Let's drop them off first,” I whispered.  About forty minutes later and after we dropped the others off at the underground base to keep looking for Wanda, we were back on the highway. Another twenty minutes later, we pulled up to Peter’s apartment complex, lucking out quickly and finding a good spot near the front.  Tony and I got outside, looking around and then briskly making our way to the front of the doorway.  We paused for a long second and then buzzed into May’s apartment.  At first, there was no reason. My stomach twisted.  I buzzed her apartment again.  

This time, we got an answer.  “Peter?!”  May gasped into the receiver.  Her voice was shaky and full of panic, yet there was an underlying sound of hope. “Peter?  Is that you?”

“May, it’s Steve Rogers,” I said.  “And Tony Stark.  We need to talk to you… Can you let us in?  It’s important.”

“O — of course,” May stammered.  There was no sense of urgency to her voice anymore, just disappointment.

A second later, the door was unlocked and Tony and I stepped inside.  We made our way quietly up the stairs, stopping right outside the door. Tony looked over at me. “Are you sure you want to do this, Steve? We’ll be putting her in a lot of danger if we tell her—”

“She has a right to know what happened to Peter, especially if—…” I stopped.  I couldn’t bring myself to finish, to _fathom_ the idea that Hydra could have already killed Peter. “I’m sure Aunt May would like to know the truth.  And Fury okayed it so we’re not breaking any rules.”  

“Like that would stop you anyway,” Tony muttered.  He knocked on the door.

May answered it shortly after, pulling the door open a crack.  She peered through the crack in the doorway, eyes wide, and after getting a clear look at Tony and me, I could see her face fall — like she thought Peter was just playing a joke.  She sighed and opened the door completely, gesturing for Tony and me to come inside.  A humble apartment, the kitchen and living room smelled like meatloaf and apple pie.  The fire was roaring, burning hot with a stack of folded blankets untouched.  A cup of untouched tea was resting on the coffee table beside a box of tissues.  It was a homey apartment with pictures of Peter all over the kitchen counter and the mantel.  

She pointed toward the couch in the living room.  “Please, sit,” May said, shakily.  May looked _exhausted_ , dark bags and worry lines etched below and around her eyes — like she had aged years in just a single night.  Her brown hair was slung into a loose, messy bun, strands falling out and swaying around as she briskly made her way around the kitchen.  “Do you guys want something to drink?  Coffee or tea? Maybe water… I would offer the meatloaf but… Peter will probably hungry when he gets back…” Her words were barely audible behind her tears at the end of her sentence. She turned away from Tony and me.  We looked at each other and then toward the ground, embarrassed and ashamed.  “I — I’m sorry… I don’t know what’s gotten into me.”  

“It’s okay,” Tony said.  He picked up the cup of tea from the coffee table and brought over to the kitchen.  “Here, let me,” he said. He pressed a firm hand on May’s back and guided her away from the oven.  She stood numbly next to the kitchen counter, watching as Tony put the cup of tea into the microwave and reheated it for her.  “Why don’t you go sit down?”

May shook her head.  “I’m okay.  Really.  I am.”

“It’s okay not to be,” Tony said.

May gave Tony a watery smile and she let out a heavy breath. “I just want my boy back,” she whispered.  “Peter hasn’t disappeared like this since — since Ben has died… And he knows what that did to me. He promised he wouldn’t do this again.” She was weeping now, tears streaming down her face, barely able to speak coherently.  Absolutely heartbreaking.  “I don’t understand where he could have gone.”

Tony looked at me for a long second.  I looked away because I was such a fucking coward.  Tony set the cup of the tea down onto the counter, took hold of May and pulled her into his arms, tightly, sweetly. She clung onto him, desperately, as though Tony was Peter coming home.  This was always the hardest part of being a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent _and_ being in the army: having to look into the faces of family members after they’ve been told the worst news they could ever hear.  “Come on,” Tony whispered, gently.  He pulled May to the couch to sit next to me, setting the cup of tea on the coffee table and then giving May a tissue.  It frightened me seeing May like this, so broken, in absolute anguish just thinking that Peter was lost somewhere in the world.  What would happen to her when she found out who has Peter?  Or if she found out there was no chance Peter was going to be coming home?  If Peter was dead?

“Oh god,” May groaned.  She rested her hand on my arm. “And I didn’t even think about Wanda.  I know that you can’t find her, either, and here I am only concerned about P — Peter…”

“It’s okay,” I reassured. “He’s your kid, May.  Anybody would be feeling the same.”

“Do you have any idea where they might be?”  May pleaded.  “I thought — oh god, all of last night when Ned called me and said he and Wanda were missing, I just thought — hoped really, that Wanda and Peter just got drunk or something and fell asleep somewhere.  But, he would have called by now.  And I’m sure Wanda would have called you by now.”

“May,” I started, but I couldn’t bring myself to finish.  I swallowed my uneasiness and then continued, “May, there's something you should know about Wanda.”

“What do you mean?” She asked.  

I took a deep breath, searching in the lowest parts of me to find the courage to divulge the past of a _victim_ who worked so hard and fought for so long to get past her nightmares.  I started from the beginning, explaining who Natasha and I really were and why we were living in Manhattan.  Then moving to Wanda’s story.  A brief description of Hydra, just barely mentioning her brother and everything that he’s done for us, and then settling into her protection detail.  Beside a couple of questions May had, she was absolutely silent, watching us with a look of skepticism.  When we were finished, she didn’t say anything for a very long time, looking over at Tony for some sort of explanation, a face full of confusion, shock and then rage.  She was suddenly standing up, backing away from Tony and me.  “What the fu — no! No, that’s true!”

“May, I know it’s hard to believe—,” Tony started, standing up to walk toward her.

She pulled away, like she was terrified of Tony and me.  “No, no, it’s not hard to believe.  It’s — it’s, you’re — you two are _stupid!”_  she said, running her hand through her hair and pacing in circles, nervously. “You said that you’re supposed to be this big shot spy or something and you’re freaking Tony Stark.  You have an IQ of 150 or something!  And you two thought it would be a good idea to let her — to let her come back for some _stupid dance!_  You let her put my Peter in danger, and not just that, you let her put her own life danger!” She was screaming now, so loudly that I was afraid that neighbors were going to hear what she was saying.  May was unraveling.

I swallowed my emotions.  There was no point in me getting upset right now, not when that would only make May more and more upset.  “We tried to leave, May,” I said, standing up to reach her side.  “Really. We pushed for Wanda to leave right after the science expo but she insisted on saying goodbye to her friends.  And I’m sure you know how much pain Peter would have been in if Wanda just _left_ , if Peter didn’t even have the chance to say goodbye.”

“He would’ve gotten over it,” May whispered.  “Is — is he dead?”

Tony and I looked at each other.  I was hoping that May wouldn’t ask this question, hoping a very selfish thought that he would be so goddamn distracted with everything else I just told her to not even think about whether or not Peter alive.  Stupid thought. Why would May not think about that?  That was only thing I could think about.  “We don’t know,” I answered.  Honest.  Painfully honest and as the words registered in Aunt May’s mind, I could see the anguish building up in her, ready to explode.

Tears filled her eyes again.  “Oh god… Oh, oh _Peter_ …” May whispered.  Tony reached forward, grabbing hold of May again.  I went to May’s side in the same instant, and we were both there, arms pressed against May.  “You’ll do what you can to find him, right?”

“Of course,” I promised.  

May smiled, tears dripping down her face. “Do I just stay here, then?  And wait?”

I shook my head.  “I think it’d be best if you came with us,” I said.  I swallowed hard, pushing down a mix of emotions and then said, “I think it’d be best to make sure that Hydra doesn’t try to go after you… and I think it might also make you feel better. To be there around people trying to find Peter.  To know that we’re — we’re doing what we can.”

May nodded.  “Thank you,” she whispered, “for telling me the truth.  I’m sure it would have been easier just to lie to me.”

Tony and I gave May a few minutes to collect some personal belongings: a few spare changes of clothes, toothbrush, a couple of books and photo of her, her late husband and Peter.  Everything packed in a small carry-on suitcase, May was ready to go pretty quickly and followed Tony and me quietly outside of her apartment to the car. It was a long drive back to the base and the entire time, May was finally peppering the two of us with a number of questions about life as spies and how Tony got involved with such a life.  The rage was gone.  The fear was still there in her voice — that was something that wouldn’t go away, but now there was plain curiosity, a desire for better comprehension.  May’s questionings continued the entire drive but the minute the car parked, the minute Tony started to check if there were Hydra agents lurking in the shadows, she fell silent.  Her face went white as a sheet.  When J.A.R.V.I.S. cleared the area, she uneasily gripped Tony’s arm as we walked inside. We hurried inside and reactivated the security system the minute we were in the base.  May took a couple steps inside and then froze, jaw dropping as she took her surroundings.  Natasha, Sharon and Sam were all huddled together, staring at the computer screens.  When the three of us walked inside, they straightened up. Natasha went to May’s side first.  The two women looked at each other for a very long time and then Natasha pulled May into a bear hug.  While some may believe it was a weird reaction from Natasha, I expected it: I knew Natasha’s own maternal instincts over Wanda was closest to the relationship that May had with Peter.  

“I’m so sorry,” Natasha whispered.

May shook her head.  “And I’m sorry, too. To all of you, actually.”  May looked around at my companions, Sam and Sharon, then Tony and me.  “I know that it must be really hard with — with Wanda…”  May lingered by Natasha’s side, and I let the two of them share their private moment. A second later and Sharon went over to Aunt May.  “You’re Steve’s sister?  The one we met in Florida?”

Sharon looked at the ground sheepishly. She held out her hand, “I believe that we haven’t been formally introduced.  I’m Sharon Carter — or Agent 13.  Steve’s sister was just a temporary cover.”

Sam came to stand by Sharon.  “You’ve already met me but, uh, now you just know me as a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent.”

“You work for the high school, right?  You were at the science expo?” May said.

Sam nodded. “Yeah, that was me.  And, if it means anything, I meant what I said about Peter. He’s a good kid.”  

May smiled.  “Thank you,” she said, quietly. Silence followed.  May went to look around the very disheveled underground base.  The floor was still stained red with blood — whoever’s blood it was.  Her eyes rested on the guns, looking at nervously.  “So, this is it?  This is where you do all your _S.H.I.E.L.D._ stuff?”

“Yes and no,” Natasha said.  “We’ve been hanging out here for the last couple of weeks… We thought it was supposed to be safe for her.”

“Do you want something to eat?” Sharon said, quickly.  She went forward to May and took her hand.  “Come on.  Let’s get you some coffee — or a muffin, maybe.” Sharon brought May to limited food and drink supply we had. 

Once I knew May was in good hands, I looked to Tony.  “Did you guys find anything on the traffic cameras?” I asked, going toward Natasha and Sam.

Natasha shook her head.  “We’ve checked everything, but it was just as Tony suspected.  The minute they got past that bridge, traffic cameras were virtually non-existent.”

“What about ATM cameras?  Satellite photos?” I asked.  I was starting to panic. Options running out.

“Nothing man,” Sam whispered.

I groaned.  I looked over at Tony.  “What about the mask?  What did you get from the mask?”

Tony sighed.  “It’s — it’s him Steve.  The results came back as James Barnes.”  He handed me a copy of the results and all that I saw was Bucky’s young face and his wide smile. “I’m sorry… I think…”

I didn’t know what to say back.   _You knew this was going to happen.  You knew that it was Bucky from the get go. This just means that Bucky is alive._  I blinked a couple of times.  It was crippling pain that was forcing me to find something to cling onto — the computer table.  I grasped the table. Reality blurred.  Bucky was on the train again, scrambling forward to violently grab hold of the Taliban above me.  Then his scream. Deafening.  Terrifying.  And then I was angry, boiling, violent.  Worse than I was at the classroom because I _knew_ it was the fucking truth — that Bucky was Hydra. Bucky was Hydra.  He was a mobster.  A _monster_ who took a teenage girl who was just trying to do the right thing, just trying to protect people like Buck wanted when he first joined the military.  His beliefs were backwards, twisted, horrifying.  I needed to punch something, shoot something, _kill a Hydra agent._ I saw _Bucky’s mask_ — Hydra’s Bucky, to be clear.  And the next thing I knew, I was throwing the mask across the room.  It hit the wall and splintered into two, crashing down the ground.

I was fuming.  “I — how?  I watched him go off a cliff!  What did Hydra do to him?  Why would he—?”

“Steve,” Natasha whispered.  I looked over at her, and her voice was suddenly grounding.  At first, I thought she was going to say something to me, reach forward and grab my hand, but she was staring at the wall, staring at the mask. She went to pick it up. “Steve, look at this…”  

Natasha held up half of the Winter Soldier’s mask and…  “What is that?” I gaped.  I took the mask from her.  Tony, Sharon and Sam were by my side, staring at the mask in the same look of disbelief.  Sticking out of the side of the mask was a little USB connector.  

“Give that to me,” Tony commanded, taking the half of the mask from my hand and plugging it into the computer.  We crowded around the little computer screen. At first, it stayed blank and then eight boxes showed up.  A password.  “J.A.R.V.I.S., start working on this.”

“What if this is a virus?  What if it steals our files?  Takes everything we have on Hydra away from us?” Sharon said.

“If this was a virus, Hydra would _want_ us to find it — or they would have put it into our computer systems when Bucky shot this place to hell.  He wouldn’t hide in it in his mask.  It’s probably important.  It’s probably…” Sam trailed off.  “I don’t know.”

Sharon pursed her lips as she and Sam brainstormed different theories.  “What about… what if it’s a message?  Something for us?” Sharon offered.  

“He’s a Hydra agent,” Nat said, blatantly.

“Trying to crack a password this long is going to take forever,” Tony said.  He looked at me.  “Steve, he was your friend.”

“I — I don’t…” I racked my brain.  There were some inside jokes, some many important dates, so many names that Bucky would considering using as his password.  He used his sister’s and his mother’s names and a series of numbers. “Try his mom’s birthday. 06/04/48.”  Tony typed it in and the screen buzzed red. “What about…”  My mind was drawing blank.  What was important to Bucky? What would, why would… And then it came to me.  Eight digits.  And if I was guessing right, if there was still a shred of _my_ Bucky still in there then… “May 5, 1999. 05/05/99.  Try that.”

Tony typed it and then nothing.

“Steve, it isn’t working” Tony said.

I shook my head.  “No, no use a backslash instead of a forward slash,” I commanded. That was Bucky’s thing.  In junior high, our seventh grade math teacher handed Bucky his ass after putting the slash in the opposite direction and ever since then, he’s been purposely doing it wrong just to spite his teachers.  Tony typed in the digits again and then — we were in!  Lines of green words started flashing across the screen and then it went blank.  For one terrible second, the computer didn’t do anything. And then a map of the US appeared, zoomed in and then a dot appeared right on the state of New Jersey.  Underneath was an address.  

“Where is this?” Nat asked.

Tony already had his phone out and was typing it in.  “It’s this building in New Jersey..." 

“I know that place,” I said, quickly.  “Bucky and I trained in the army there years ago. Camp Lehigh.  It’s closed down now but… why would Bucky give us this address?”  I didn’t understand.  Of course it was a significant part of my and Bucky’s life but what did it have to do with Hydra?

“We should check it out,” Natasha said.

I nodded.  “Yeah, we should.”

“What if it’s a trap?”  Tony asked.

“The world is a big place.  We have to start somewhere,” I said.

We reloaded our weapons for the raid and waited until the other S.H.I.E.L.D. agents arrived.  About an hour and a half later, an infuriating one that was filled with Tony trying to figure out more information about Camp Lehigh, the buzzer to get inside went off.  This time we were being more careful. We very cautiously peaked through the door, this time guns drawn and ready for anything.  But, as the agents came strutting into the underground base, the grip around my gun eased.  I recognized Melinda May coming down the staircase first with her sweeping black hair; Daisy Skye in the same outfit as Natasha’s and bold expression; the mercenary, Lance Hunter; and then the long line of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents looking around the base with curiosity.  When her team made their way around the stairs, filling the main floor. After catching one look at the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, May took a couple of steps backwards closer to Sharon. “Thank you for coming,” I said.

“No need to thank us,” Melinda said.  “I’m sorry about your asset, Steve.  I know what’s it like to—.”

“We didn’t lose an asset,” Natasha interrupted.  I could tell behind Natasha’s expression that she wasn’t trying to sound curt.

Melinda nodded.  “Right.  Of course.”

“What happened here?” Hunter asked, not taking his eyes off of the bloodstains on the floor.  

“Long story,” I said.  I picked up Tony’s computer and showed it to Melinda May and her team.  “We got this address from a…” _Mask?  From my best friend?_ “Uh, from — that’s a long story, too.  It’s a place called Camp Lehigh.  Old army base.  We don’t know what’s there but it’s the best lead we’ve got.”

Melinda May looked at Natasha and me for a long second, very skeptically.  I could tell she didn’t like the idea of going in blindly to what could be a Hydra hotbed or a trap. “Okay,” she finally said.  “Okay, let’s go.”  I was surprised and very thankful that Melinda May didn’t argue.  “Tony, you’ll stay behind, of course.  Stay on comms and do whatever you can, okay.”  

“I’ll be your eyes and ears as usual,” Tony said.  He turned to Aunt May.  “You can help, if you’d like.”

May nodded.  “Knowing what’s happening is better than not knowing anything at all.”

I thought that was true.  Until this whole mess with Bucky…

I stopped myself from thinking.  “You have five minutes.  Get your stuff.”  My team broke away.

Tony went by my side.  He patted me on the back.  “It’s been good working with you, Cap…”  Based off of Tony’s tone of voice, I could tell that he wasn’t saying goodbye. Just a statement of fact.  “Out of curiosity, what was that date?”

“The day Bucky and I enlisted,” I muttered. “See you in a little bit, Tony.”

Quietly, I led Natasha, Sharon, Sam, Melinda and her team out to the parking garage.  Large black vans were waiting for us and, just like the last time we went on a raid together, my team went in one car along with Melinda and Daisy.  It was a long drive to Camp Lehigh, and unfortunately not one without painful memories flooding back to me as we drove down the exact bath that Bucky and I took to get here. Camp Lehigh was supposed to be practically a sacred place to Bucky and me. Full of laughs and tears and dreams.  We trained here for fourteen weeks, grueling weeks that pushed us physically, mentally and emotionally.  If things got tough for one of us, the other was there: Bucky would talk for hours about video games and screwing around at his ma’s house when I was homesick and I would describe all the blondes and brunettes Bucky was dying to see again.  And the countless times Buck made fun of me and vice versa.  Like the time I got out of doing a fifteen mile run because, instead of climbing the metal pole to get the US flag, I pulled the bolt out and the pole fell right to the ground.  

 _Pompous, unfit asshole_ , Bucky would say

 _Gotta use your brain, Buck_ , I snapped back.  

Camp Lehigh was supposed to _our place_. Now it was tainted — Hydra’s place.  I tried to think about why Bucky would have turned to Hydra.  They must have found him, convinced him that _America_ let him die, make him an enemy of the country. No. _No!_ Bucky would never… at least, I _thought_ Bucky would never do something like this.   _Focus, Rogers_.  I looked over at Natasha, who was gazing out the window; I grasped the hilt of my gun intently.   _Keep Nat safe_.   _Get Wanda out._ But what if Bucky killed Wanda?  Or Peter?  I wouldn’t be able to kill Bucky, no matter what he did. Not when I knew that he threw himself off a cliff, not when I knew that because he did that, he wound up with Hydra.  It was all my fault.  All my fault…

“Steve, ten minutes,” Natasha whispered.  I glanced at the clock: 5:30 in the morning.

She was staring at me, pretending to be strong, pretending not be warped with fear at the thought that everything we’ve worked hard to do was slipping away from us.  I grabbed Natasha’s hand.  Comforting for both her and me.  I didn’t want to let go.  Thankfully, no one besides Sam noticed, and he didn’t care.  Why should he?  We’re all scared, and we all have a different way of coping with our fear.  I looked away from Natasha and to the other S.H.I.E.L.D. agents.  I turned comms on and quietly whispered, “Alright guys, stay close together, safety’s off, stay on high alert. Sam and Sharon, I want you leading Melinda and her team through the base, clearing out rooms and getting whatever Hydra files or agents you can.  But remember, if Wanda and Peter are actually at this base, our number one priority is getting them out. Natasha and I are gonna look for Wanda and Peter.  Notify us if you find her before we do.  If you see Rumlow or the Red Skull, you _call_ us.  If a Hydra agent dies, so be it.”  

“We’re going to be walking into heavy fire, and we can’t guarantee that everyone’s going to walk away from this,” Natasha whispered.

“I’ve got no plans tomorrow night,” I mumbled.  

Sam cracked a smile, “You never have plans.”

“You guys ready, or are you going to keep yapping?” Melinda said.  

“On me,” I muttered, the smiles slipping from our faces as we pulled our guns out and pushed the car door open.

 


	23. Wanda Maximoff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wanda and Peter plot to escape.

Chapter Twenty-Three: Wanda Maximoff

I didn’t sleep well that night.  I stayed in the corner of that bedroom, staring at Peter, not able to take my eyes off of him.  If I did — even if I blinked — I felt petrified.  I shouldn’t be.  Deep down, I knew it was stupid and selfish and _idiotic_ to think that Peter would ever hurt me.  Not after everything we’ve been through, but I couldn’t help myself.  For my own sanity, I needed to make sure that I saw Peter the entire time.  He didn’t do anything that would justify me being scared of him.  Hell, he didn't even look at me after he realized it made me uncomfortable.  He just laid flat on the bed, his eyes on the ceiling and eventually drifted asleep.  I had no idea if Peter guessed what happened — what Rumlow did, but he never asked questions. He just slept.  Stayed quiet and slept.  The only time he talked was to suggest that I take the bed… He was okay with sleeping on the floor, apparently.  I didn’t agree to that, not in his awful condition.  I kept myself wrapped around in that brown blanket, gripping onto the pillow, breathing in painful gasps.  

The few times that I did fall asleep, it was miserable.  Rumlow.  Rumlow.  Rumlow. Over and over again, breathing down my neck, grabbing hold of me, pushing and shoving Peter.  So many strings suspended me in the air as I watched Peter get beat up again.  After the second or third nightmare, I stopped trying to sleep.  By the time that Peter woke up, stirring around and then staring down at me, I was hardly blinking. I was sore; my legs were numb but I had no interest in moving to find a more comfortable position.  What did it matter, anyway?  Beside me was the bag of melted ice — I hardly used it.  Didn’t matter. Doesn’t matter… Not anymore.

“Wanda?” Peter said.  He voice was quiet, solemn, weak.  “Are you okay?  Do you want…” He was shifting around in his bed now; I could hear the sound of the wires creaking.  “Metal Arm left a couple pain killers on the nightstand.  Dunno why… But if you want them…”

I shook my head, a weak, lackluster movement but enough to convey my point. “No.  No, you have it.  You’re the one who’s… you’re the one they really hurt,” I muttered.  

“Why do you think he’s doing it, Wanda?” Peter asked.  “Metal Arm, I mean?  Or Bucky — the Winter Soldier, whatever his stupid name is.  What d’ya think he’s playing at?  Good cop, bad cop routine?”

I scoffed, even though there was nothing I should be laughing at right now.  I didn’t want to think about what Bucky’s intentions were.  Maybe he was still the wholesome individual Steve befriended all those years ago.  Maybe Hydra has yet to squash all traces of humanity in him.  Or maybe Hydra just wanted to keep Peter and me alive a little bit longer, prolong our suffering, relish in the fact that the longer we stayed here, the more hopeless and more despaired we felt.  That one seemed the most likely, which was soul-crushing just to fathom. Torture in and of itself.  Making sure that we were kept in this hellhole for as long as possible.  Peter and I mustn’t have been captured too long ago but it felt like we were locked up here for eons.  It was probably just a couple of days… maybe even a day.  How pathetic is that?  Just a couple of days and I’m already broken.  The minute Rumlow threw one punch at Peter and I started spewing everything that I could think of.  But why should I care? Buyers were nothing to me. Screw my and Pietro’s vow of silence. I’ll give up every single buyer if I can keep Peter safe. Buyers were buyers.  They were just another thing feeding Hydra’s strength, making all the heads on that big ugly beast multiply.  I didn’t give a fuck if the Red Skull killed every single buyer.

“I don’t know why,” I finally said, remembering that Peter asked me a question.  “Doesn’t make sense.”

“I’ll split the pain meds, Wanda,” Peter said again.  “You look like you need them…”

I shook my head.  “I’m not going to take them, Peter.  I don’t need ‘em… You need to get out of here.  That’s all that matters, Peter.”  

“Bullshit, Wanda,” Peter snapped.  He rolled around on his bed, forcing himself upwards even though I knew that he was too exhausted, too hurt to move like that.  He was feebly messing with the pain meds — just one pill, actually.  He was trying to break it apart with his bony, scrapped-up fingers.  “Hydra’s only had us for a day. Granted, they screwed us up pretty badly but still.  You said you were this important asset for — for that S.H.I.E.L.D. thingy. They’ll be looking for us, right?  They’re going to find us.”

“I don’t know, Peter…” I whispered.  “I really don’t.”

Peter took in a sharp breath.  Tears were streaming down his face now.  “Am I ever going to see May again?”  I looked into his eyes, and I wanted to scream, to fight, to _kill_ when I saw Peter’s face.  That fire I used to see in Peter’s eyes every time he faced a problem that suggested he wasn't going to rest until he solved whatever he was working on was gone.  Vanquished. Burnt out, and replaced with emptiness and despair.  I wanted to go to him, comfort him, takes his face in my hands and kiss his forehead.  But I didn’t move.  I was glued to the ground, because if I got any closer to Peter, I would see Rumlow again.  “Wanda, I’m scared… I — I don’t wanna die.”

“I’m sorry…” I said again.  My least favorite words.   _I’m sorry_ meant nothing.  There was nothing I could do to make up for what’s happening to Peter.  “I should have just left New York.  Saying goodbye isn’t worth—”

“Don’t,” Peter barely managed.  He laid back down on his bed.  “Don’t say it, Wanda.  Doesn’t matter, anymore.  We’re gonna get out of here.”

 _We’re not_.  Pietro was the strongest person I knew and he never got out.  “You take that pain pill, Peter,” I said, and that was the end of the discussion.  

Peter drank the little tepid water he had left and the downed the pill.  He fell asleep a couple minutes later.  I kept looking at the doorway and then back at Peter.  Every time I heard so much as a cough or a little thud from upstairs, my heart started racing. I didn't take my eyes off the door.  I kept thinking that if I so much as blinked for too long, Peter would be gone.  I was waiting for Rumlow to return.  Or Ultron.  Anyone. I doubted that Hydra would leave us alone for that long.  What would they have prepared next for us?  For me?  What other questions would they have?

The door opened again; I wasn’t sure what time it was or how long I had been staring at the door.  It’s not Rumlow.   _Thank god._ It was Ultron, though, and that wasn’t any better.  Ultron was unsettling, more so than the other Hydra agents.  With goons like Thanos and Rumlow, their sheer size was their biggest force, their only weapon that they relied on.  With them, I expected beatings and whippings.  Ultron was lanky, not as strong, and very odd.  His mannerisms were off.  Ultron took a long look at Peter and then down at me, still curled into the corner of the bedroom.  He smiled, taking a few steps toward me.  I was scrambling away.  I didn’t fight back with Rumlow but Ultron was smaller, hopefully not as experienced. “Don’t run, pretty,” Ultron whispered.  His voice was chilling, like metal scraping against metal. Made me shiver.  “Rumlow told me what happened. Little jealous.  Thought I could come here to try it for myself.  Might be a little awkward with your boyfriend here.”

“What’s he talking about?” Peter asked.  He was trying to get off the bed, fruitlessly. After so much as leaning up from his bed, Peter’s face was pale and he was sweating. “You leave her the fuck alone!”

“You were supposed to be a beacon of promise for all of the Hydra’s _victims_ ,” Ultron whispered.  “You and Pietro.  A beautiful source of light that was otherwise lacking in a very bleak time.  They would’ve looked to you and see hope, see freedom, see _liberation_.” Ultron was near my face now, up close.  I could see his grimy, cavity-wrecked teeth.  And then his arms were around me, trapping me in the corner of the bedroom.  I felt like I couldn’t breathe, anymore.  I was seeing spots — I was seeing Rumlow.  Then Pietro.  “Instead, they’ll look only to see the fragments that’s left of you.  Someone stuck in a nightmare.”

“What are you doing here?” came a gruff voice.  Ultron retracted his arms, moving swiftly away from me to look at the doorway: the Winter Soldier was waiting there, arms crossed and looking angrily at Ultron; despite the dim lights, his metal arm was gleaming.

With Ultron away from me, I doubled over now, sliding back into the corner and reaching for the blanket.  “Wanda?” Peter asked.

I didn’t listen, trapped in my own head, trying to fight the horrible flashbacks of Rumlow creeping back into my head.  I shoved my terror away and focused on Ultron and the Winter Soldier.  “Did the boss say that you were allowed to go into the asset’s room?” Bucky seethed.  He wasn’t wearing the mask or the goggles like he had at Manhattan Academy and his hair was out of his face.  I could see Bucky’s eyes, I mean _really_ see his eyes, bright blue.  He looked angry but also very cautious and analytic all at the same time.  He took a step closer to Ultron, who was cowering under Bucky’s gaze. “ _Did he?”_

“No,” Ultron panted.

“Then get the fuck out of here,” he hissed.  

Ultron scrambled for the exit, looking back at me and staring at me for a long time. When Ultron was gone and it was just Bucky, Peter and me, Peter leaned back in his bed and took a deep breath.  I wasn't as quick to relax.  “Why are you helping us?”  I asked.

“You need to come with me,” the Winter Soldier said.  I didn’t move and neither did Peter.  “If you make me ask again, I will drag you out of this bedroom by your hair.”

This time, I could tell that it was a real threat, and I was scared again.  I went to Peter’s side, my ankle _killing me_ as I walked over to the bed.  I shoved down all my discomfort, ignored the little part of my brain screaming to get away from Peter; he needed my help.  He was so battered that so much as standing upright wasn’t reasonable for him.  He put his arm around me, swallowing tears and putting on a fake smile to suggest that he was okay.  I recognized that expression.  I put it up myself at least a hundred times to Pietro, to Nat, to Steve, to _him._  Peter put practically all of his weight on me, and I was staggering to stay upright.  Peter’s weight paired with the twisted ankle was excruciating.

“Hurry up,” Bucky said, looking down at the hallway.  

“I — I can’t carry him,” I whispered.

“ _Fine_ ,” the Winter Soldier seethed and the next thing I knew Peter’s weight was off of me.  The Winter Soldier hoisted Peter off of me with his metal arm, just enough to keep Peter up.  Peter’s eyes were wide with discomfort, but eventually Peter eased into Bucky’s grasp.  The pain in my ankle was still staggering, even though Peter wasn’t on me anymore.  Bucky noticed.  He was halfway out the door when he saw me limping across the bedroom to follow Bucky and Peter.  “You need to keep up,” he commanded.  Cold.  Harsh.  No reason for me to expect anything different.  “ _Hurry_.”

“Why?” I muttered as I followed the Winter Soldier out of the bedroom and down the hall.  “Where are we going?”  

Bucky didn’t answer me.  He was moving fast down the hallway now, but also very cautiously, scanning every direction and not daring to even breathe too loudly.  I took a look at the Winter Soldier’s face: he looked _worried, stressed out, on edge._  Why was he acting like this?  He’s the Winter Soldier. He’s Hydra’s best assassin and he’s bringing two prisoners to be tortured.  It’s not like he has to get his hands dirty, not like there’s any reason for him to be soon edge.  

And then we stopped at a doorway.  The Winter Soldier looked around a couple of times, checked to see if there was anybody around him and then unlocked the doorway. It was another bedroom, much smaller than the other two.  Two bunk beds and a small little desk in the corner.  Bucky locked the door behind us, put Peter by the door and began scrambling around the room.  I wasn’t sure what he was doing.  He was messing with a small little metallic box with wires sticking out.

“What are you doing?”  I prompted.  No response.  Bucky set the metal box into the drawer of the desk and then took Peter again and left.  “Where are we going?!” I demanded.

“Shush!” Bucky snapped. We went into another room.  This time a conference room.  Bucky did the same thing as he did before: stuck a metal box underneath the conference table and then gathering Peter. He had tunnel vision; he didn’t give a shit that Peter and I were asking questions, confused.  He didn’t care that he was dragging along two Hydra prisoners.  And then Bucky brought us into another room. A computer room like the one that Tony had in his home.  After locking the door behind us, Bucky exhaled, closing his eyes. When he opened them again and looked over at Peter and me, it was like looking at a completely different person.  His eyes were filled with guilt.  “I — you guys should stay behind that.”  He pointed toward a large metal cabinet with a little nook between its side and the wall.  I followed Bucky’s instructions, making sure that Peter was shielded the most.  “Just try to stay quiet, and we have to be fast…” His voice was different too.  It wasn’t gruff and seething.

“What’s going on?” I braved.  “What did you do in those rooms back there?”

“Just give me a second,” Bucky whispered.  “I’ll — I’ll explain in a second.”

“E — explain what?” I said.

Bucky sighed.  He was fiddling with the keyboard for a couple of seconds before whispering, “Explain what’s going on.”  He kept messing with the computers, vigorously typing something in.  The screens in front of us were going haywire, words and pictures flashing across the screen and then disappearing seconds later. Then, he pulled out a small device — a flash drive — and put it into the keyboard. A bar showed up on the center screen with the words _Downloading, please wait_ underneath.  Bucky took another deep breath and looked back at Peter and me.  “I — I’m sorry…” he said. That didn’t make sense.  Nothing made any sense right now.  

“What are you talking about?” I said. “What are you doing right now?”

“Plan B,” Bucky muttered, turning around and looking at the computer again.  The files were 54% downloaded.  He was pacing now, looking at the door uneasily.  “I’m blowing this place to shit, and I’m taking their encrypted files with me.”

My brain wasn’t working.  His words were foreign to me — not foreign but just _bullshit_.  “That — I…” I stammered. “ _Why?!_ ”

“Because it was taking too long to decrypt Hydra’s systems under their nose and override their security to infect their entire base,” Bucky said.  He looked Peter and me up and down, not the way that Rumlow or Ultron did.  He looked concerned.  “Look, I don’t have a lot time right now,” —he looked at the computer screen, 79%—, “so right now, I need you two to trust me.  And I know, I’m the Winter Soldier and I ripped a tooth out of your mouth and… you just need to follow me and I’ll make sure you two get out of here alive.”

 _What?_ I didn’t understand.  I was struggling to keep myself upright or to keep myself from bursting out, screaming.  “You have to give me more than that,” I said, and I was being completely honest.  Bucky looked away from the computer and met eyes with me, wide eyes that gazed down at me. “You killed my — my family.  You killed _Steve_ , and you want me to trust you?!”

“I didn’t kill them,” Bucky whispered.

Peter looked over at me, but I was still frozen, too _paralyzed_ with the inability to comprehend anymore. “ _Bullshit_ ,” Peter said when I didn’t say anything. “We both saw them — up close.  They were looking pretty _dead_ to me.”

“They’re not,” Bucky said again. “They were blank cartridges coated with a chemical called Tetrodotoxin B.  It slows their heart rate down enough to make them pass out and look like they’re dead.  All that blood you saw was from blood donors.  Matching blood types, too.  Sharon’s back was turned.  When she was running to get you, I poured blood over them.  That’s why I was the only person that came down at first. Told Rumlow that I could handle it myself. The bastard didn't argue because he wanted to see me fail.”

“No, _no!”_ I said, taking a step toward Bucky.  “That — how?  Why?” My heart was pounding and then, I thought I could soar — fly! _They were alive._

“Had to make it convincing, didn’t I?” Bucky whispered.  “I know it’s hard to believe but I’m one of you.  

 _“What?!”_ I spluttered.  I tried thinking — I didn’t understand what he was saying and then… And then everything clicked.  Steve only mentioned it once, months ago, so long ago it felt like a different lifetime. “You’re — you’re the insider… The one that only Fury knows about. You’re…” I stopped. I leaned against the cabinet.   _This can’t be true._ If the Winter Soldier was the insider, if the Winter Soldier was S.H.I.E.L.D…. “You were an assassin.  You shot Natasha.  You killed a dozen people… how…”

Bucky looked away.  “I’m deep undercover. I had to gain Hydra’s trust, and I had to do some ugly things to do that.  But it’s all over now.  We’re bringing Hydra down tonight, and we’re making sure they stay in the ground.”

“Why didn't you do something like this sooner?” I asked.

“It was too dangerous.  Blowing up a base with all the kill agents and stealing the information isn't the most effective way of getting information and evidence.  Besides, if we did that, it would alert all the Hydra agents and they would go into hiding.  We _had_ to wait until the right time but you're here so we can't really wait any longer,” Bucky explained.  He took the flash drive out of the keyboard and went to check the doorway.  “You two coming?”  He was calling, practically pleading for us to go but I couldn’t find it in me to move.

Fury had an insider.  I always knew that. As soon as Natasha and Steve brought me to New York, they _told me_ that a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent was undercover but I didn’t process what that meant.  I might have asked a question or two but that was it.  I never thought about it again, which was _stupid._ If I had known, if it was a part of my everyday thoughts, maybe I could have said something.  I could’ve convinced Fury to get Bucky to do something.  He was undercover at least four years.  That would have been plenty of time to take down Hydra — there was no point in waiting as long as he and Fury did.   _It was stupid_ , and it cost my brother his life.  How different would my life have been?

“You fell off a cliff,” I said, quietly.  Peter was already by Bucky’s side but when I spoke, they froze and turned back to me. How… How… _How was this possible_? “Steve watched you die.”

Bucky’s face darkened.  I watched his metal arm twitch, the arm that Steve said was severely damaged in the war.  “I can’t explain right now.  No time.  But later, once we get out.”  

“Wanda, I think we should go with him,” Peter said, quietly.  He still had one arm on Bucky, still looked so pale and weak.  I wanted to argue with Peter, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it.   _You don’t understand why this is so much harder for me_. “Wanda, please.  This is our best chance.”

I swallowed my fear, blinking away my uneasiness.  “Okay, okay.”  I took a deep breath, staggering to get closer to Bucky and Peter.  

“Sweet.  What’s our plan?” Peter asked.

Bucky shrugged.  “We’re gonna haul ass out of this place and then blow it to pieces.”

“Simple,” Peter muttered. “I like it. What we do?”

“Shut up and look scared,” Bucky said.

“That won’t be too hard…” Peter whispered.

Bucky opened the door in front of him, peering around the corner and then silently leading us outside when he deemed that there was no threat. We made our way through the empty hallway.  I was standing close to Bucky, keeping my head down as if that would make the three of us any less conspicuous.  It was frightening, especially looking at the way that Peter was hanging onto Bucky.  We were vulnerable.  And I knew that it wouldn’t be a typical Hydra torture tactic to make an agent give the victim a false escape attempt but I still thought that Bucky might be playing us.  All the times that I trusted Strucker just to be betrayed after one buy-sell agreement went wrong taught me to never trust someone immediately.  I needed to get my hands on a weapon.  A gun.  I wasn’t eager to kill someone but after everything Hydra has put Peter and me through, I was ready to do whatever necessary to get us out alive.  But I had no idea how to get myself a weapon.  

“Hey! Hey! What are you doing with them?!” A voice boomed behind us.  Bucky’s muscles tensed.  We turned around slowly: Thanos and Ultron were making their way across the hallway floor, hands on their guns.  They came right up to Bucky’s face but Bucky stood tall, even while practically carrying Peter.  “I’ll ask again,” Thanos sneered.  “ _What are you doing with them?”_

“The boss asked for them,” Bucky said.  The gruff, harsh Winter Soldier was back. “The fuck are you guys doing questioning me?”

“You’re no boss of us,” Thanos snapped. “I’ve been here twice as long as you—”

“Yet the Red Skull goes to me for missions twice as often,” Bucky snapped back, angrily.  He let go of Peter, who nearly stumbled over once out of Bucky’s grip. Immediately, I lunged forward to catch hold of him.  Bucky was shoving his face into Thanos’s, like a wrestling match.   _“Get back to your fucking bunk, and stay out of my way._  You’ll be to blame when the Red Skull asks what’s taken me so long.”

“Funny you say that,” Ultron said, stepping right behind Thanos, craning his neck to peer over Thanos’s shoulder.  “We were just talking to the Red Skull with Rumlow.  He never mentioned anything about you taking the prisoners out of their room.”

Bucky’s sneer faded from his face as Ultron and Thanos looked at us with triumphant, very terrifying looks on their face.  The next thing I knew Thanos was on the ground, clutching his nose as blood gushed out, covering his face with red.  Ultron was tumbling over a second later as Bucky struck him in the head.  Both crumbled over.  But, for a big guy, Thanos was fast. Thanos was tackling Bucky and Ultron was getting up, too.  But Bucky was _the Winter Soldier._ Even with Thanos kicking Bucky in the sternum and Ultron landing an echoing thud of a punch on Bucky’s cheek, he got back up, grabbing Thanos and throwing him into Ultron’s side.  Yanked out his gun and pointed it at the two cowering Hydra agents.  Pulled the trigger without even blinking.  Thanos ducked and rolled.  Ultron didn’t… His last breath was extinguished by a bullet that hit the center of his forehead.

“Holy fuck,” Peter whispered, burying himself into my shoulder even more.  

Bucky fired again, only this time Thanos was ready, swerving to the side quickly.  He looked down at Ultron’s body and then back at Bucky with an unnerving glare.  Thanos’s gun went off.   _Bang, bang, bang!_ I threw Peter onto the ground, shielding him. Bullets lodged itself into the cement walls. Bucky was grabbing Thanos’s hand with his metal arm, crushing the bones in Ultron’s hands and forcing the gun out of his hand. I looked around, amazed that no one had heard the altercation.  Bucky kicked Thanos’s knee.  “When the Red Skull finds out about this—”  

Thanos never finished.  His head jerked to the side as Bucky shot him to death. Groaning, Bucky stowed the gun back into his holster, a look of horror etched on his face.  He helped to pull Peter off of me. “We’ve got to hide ‘em.  My room is right around the corner,” Bucky muttered.  “You take Ultron.  He’ll be lighter.”  Even with Bucky taking Thanos, Peter and I could hardly drag Ultron across the floor, blood smearing across the ground as we did. Peter’s face was green as he looked at Ultron’s dead body.  Bucky got into his room first and went back to help us.  We followed Bucky into his room, much more grandeur than the last couple of ones that I saw.  A queen sized bed.  A picture of a woman on his desktop.  She looked a lot like him — probably his mother or sister or something.  Bucky opened his closet and pushed the bodies inside.  “You guys alright?”

“So much for keeping a low profile,” Peter muttered.

“Come here! Help me with this!” Bucky said.  I went to Bucky’s side, helping him to push Ultron into the closet.  “We’ll have to hurry.  The Red Skull—”

“—will be pissed.”  Bucky and I spun around. Rumlow was holding his gun, pointing it at Bucky and me, standing in front of four Hydra agents.  Doom, really stocky with thick bands of muscles, had a hold of Peter, an arm wrapped around his throat, crushing him.  Beside Doom was Zemo.  Peter was twitching, grasping at the agent’s arm, desperate for breath.  A gun was jammed in Peter’s forehead.  I saw Bucky out of the corner of my eye, calculating his next move.  But his expression was blank.  “Unbelievable, you know?” Rumlow sneered, taking a closer step to Bucky and me.  “I really thought the army did a good fucking number on you so much that you were _ours!_ And yet… So what did it?  Did you see your little friend, _Captain America,_ and realize you miss being his sidekick?   _Is your army boyfriend even dead?”_

“Let Peter go,” Bucky fumed.  

Rumlow came a little closer.   _In the bedroom.  On me_.  No!  Peter… Save Peter. “If you hurt him—” I started.

“Don’t make threats to me, sweetheart,” Rumlow snapped.  Not angry.  Laughing. “Not unless you want your boyfriend’s fucking brains decorating the walls.”  Peter whimpered, trying to get away but Doom’s grip was tight.  Rumlow looked over at Bucky.  “You’re mine, _Winter Soldier_.  Get her the fuck out of my way.”  Another Hydra agent was reaching for me, and then I felt two strong arms pushing me onto the ground.  My knees buckled.  I slammed onto the concrete ground, pain exploding in my legs.  

Rumlow’s gun was shoved into Bucky’s temple, but Bucky didn’t even cringe.  “Go ahead.  Already died once,” Bucky said, his metal arm twitching.

“Death is too easy, isn’t it?” Rumlow said. Rumlow smacked Bucky with the butt of his gun.  Bucky staggered a little but didn’t lose his balance.  Rumlow hit him again and again until Bucky’s forehead was seeping blood and Bucky was crumbled on the ground.  Just like with Peter.  Rumlow kicked Bucky in the kidney, got down on his knees and punched Bucky in the jaw a few times for good measures.  His eyes were on Bucky’s metal arm.  “We fucking gave this to you out of the goodness of our hearts.” Rumlow got up and stomped on Bucky’s arm.  He wouldn’t have felt it — it wasn’t _really_ his arm, but _still_.  Rumlow kept jumping and stomping and _crushing_ his arm.  Dents.  More and more scratches and dents into that little metal limb. Took hold of the chair by Bucky’s desk, broke the leg off and then used it to beat Bucky’s arm. “Can’t even _fight back!  Weak!_ ”

I wanted to help Bucky.  Push the Hydra agent off of me.  I bet I could do it, especially with all the rage boiling over but Peter… Peter couldn’t fight, and if I did anything Rumlow didn’t like, Peter would be dead.  

“This is _ours!_ ” Rumlow seethed.  He was beating the part of the metal arm closest to Bucky’s shoulder.  And then he was clawing at it, desperately trying to rip it off.  Bucky was yelling, pushing Rumlow’s away until Rumlow struck him with the chair leg. Rumlow went back to working off the metal arm.  Getting frustrated, Rumlow pulled a knife out, jagged and ugly.  No blood spewed but Bucky was grunting against Rumlow’s weight.  Metal tore and then clattered against the wall.  “ _Ours!_ ” He pulled away from Bucky, kicking him one more time in the face for good measure, and then turning his back on Bucky.  I stared at Bucky, hardly moving, paralyzed with anguish.  “I’ll be back for you,” he said, getting up close to Bucky’s face and then spitting on him. “Let’s go.  We’re taking them to the Red Skull.”

With my near-broken state and Peter’s near-broken _body_ , dragging us up a flight of stairs, past the TV room, out of the dining hall and then round another a corner was an impressive feat.  We went down to the end of the hall.  Stopped in front of a closed, gray door.  Rumlow knocked on the door a couple of times, looked around uneasily and then knocked on it, again. “Come in.  It’s locked,” came a quiet voice — _the Red Skull_.  Rumlow fished a key out of his pocket and unlocked the door, leading us inside.  We were in the Red Skull’s office: wide and open with a desk at the far end of the room, a few paintings and dressers on either side, a couple of lamps and that’s it. No windows.  No overhead light.  Simple and bleak and dark.  But still, even with the poor lighting, the features of the Red Skull’s face were prominent.  He was sitting at the chair in front of his desk and when we stepped inside, he swiveled his chair around.  He looked at Peter and me, standing up and sweeping toward us.  Then, the Red Skull looked to Rumlow.  “What is this?  They aren’t supposed to be here until another hour.”

“There’s been a change of plans, boss,” Rumlow said.  “Your little Winter Soldier is a traitorous son of a bitch.  I caught him stuffing Ultron and Thanos’s bodies into his closet, trying to get these two out.  I already took care of him.”

The Red Skull’s eyes narrowed.  “I see.  I’m not used to betrayal of this magnitude. Must have been how Captain Rogers felt…”

“Probably a little worse,” I muttered. 

“Once we’re finished in here, Rumlow, I’ll leave Barnes to you,” the Red Skull promised.  

He moved closer to Peter and me, stopping in front of me.  Staring up at the Red Skull, it felt like years ago when Pietro got involved with Hydra.  I remember I wrapped my arms around Pietro’s chest, burying my face into his shoulder and hoping, _praying_ that I would wake up and be back with my family.  But I never would. And it was dawning on me that my and Peter’s time were running out.  I looked around.  There had to be something that I could to save us but… things were looking _bleak_.  An underestimate of the situation. Zemo’s grip was tight around my arms, Peter was too weak to fight and every fucking Hydra agent had a gun.  

_We were going to die._

“What are we supposed to do with you now?” the Red Skull asked.  He looked very calm, alarmingly calm.  “You feeling any more talkative right now?”

I didn’t know what to say.  “I told you,” I whispered, pulling against Zemo’s grip, “ _I don’t know anything_.”

The Red Skull took another step closer to me, so close I could feel his breath.  Then, his hand was gripping the back of my scalp, pulling my hair violently.  I slipped from Zemo’s grasp as the Red Skull started yanking me away from Peter and the others and up toward his desk.  Still holding onto me, he threw open a small binder with a line of pictures.  He shoved my face up close to them as he started flipping through the photos.  “These are photos of our buyers.  Which ones did you give up?!”  He demanded, anger and frustration and disdain seeping in his voice.  His grasp was tight on the back of my head, and I was screaming.

My head was burning with pain.  I was struggling against the Red Skull’s grasp but he was too strong.  I tried to focus.  I stared at the pages of that binder but the Red Skull was flipping through the pages too fast that I never got a clear look at any of their faces.  “I — I don’t know,” I sobbed. “I don’t recognize any of them!”  And then the pain in the back of my head was over, replaced with staggering pain as the Red Skull turned me around and backhanded me.  I landed with a thud on the ground, Peter yelling in protest.  The assault wasn’t over.  The Red Skull picked me up from the ground and struck me again.  I caught myself on the edge of his desk, eyes blurred with tears.  Something even harder came crashing onto my back, and I let go of the Red Skull’s desk, landing with a thud on the ground.  Right on my broken rib. “ _Stop!”_ I begged.

He threw the book on the ground in front of me.  “Take another look!” the Red Skull demanded.  

I did, scrambling quickly to look through the pages.  “I — I…” I stared at the pages. _Think, Wanda.  You have to recognize one of them!_  But I fucking didn’t.  None of these faces were the faces I remembered. I thought about lying, knew that I’ve gotten good enough at it to maybe buy some time… but if the Red Skull caught me… “I don’t know,” I whispered.  “Maybe — maybe, this one!” I stammered, pointing toward a photo of a red-faced, big burly man.  He looked vaguely familiar.   _Kingpin._

“Lies!” The Red Skull said.  “We killed him a year before Pietro joined Hydra!”  He kicked me in the ribs.  And again.  I was tumbling over, crumbled on the ground in sheer again, eyes nearly glazed over as I stared blankly at the book.  The Red Skull blindly kicked me, this time hitting my jaw, right where the tooth had been yanked out.  I sobbed.  I couldn’t even feel the pain anymore.  Sheer numbness.   _Kill me, kill me, kill me.  End this suffering._

“You kill her and she can’t help you!” Peter screamed.

“SILENCE!” The Red Skull hissed.  Peter whimpered as a gun was pressed even harder into the back of his head.  The Red Skull leaned down to whisper in my ear. “How could you be Pietro’s little sister? Pietro was a strong kid.  Killed plenty of my Hydra agents as proof.  You’re weak.  You’re nothing.”

 _Just get it over with_.   _Kill me, please._ I barely moved my head to see Peter, face wet with tears as he looked down at me.   _I failed him._

“Wanda,” came a gentle voice, an alarmingly gentle voice.  I craned my head a little: Pietro was standing behind the Red Skull, looking over his shoulder and down at me.  “Wanda,” he whispered again, taking a closer step to me.  He was so close that I could reach out and touch him, but that required too much energy, energy that I didn’t have anymore.  “You have to fight, Wanda.  Don’t you listen to him.  Don’t you listen to _any_ of the Red Skull’s thugs. You’re strong.  And Peter needs you.  He needs you to get up.  He needs you to _fight back._ Buy yourself some time and get yourself free.  I know you can do it because you’re the strongest damn person that I known.  Stronger than me.”  

“Maximoff,” another very sharp voice came, interrupting Pietro’s gentle words.  Forming beside Pietro was Clint, twirling his bow and arrow in his hands.  “Look at me!  Damn it, Maximoff, I did not die on that rooftop just for you to have a breakdown right now. Who cares what happened to you in the past?  It’s in the past.  You can’t change that.  It’s your fault, it’s everyone’s fault, who cares?  Do not let my boy grow up without ever meeting his father for nothing. It doesn’t matter what you’ve done, or what you haven’t done.  You get off the ground, you fight, and you fight to kill.  God it’s such a stupid name, but damn it, you are _an Avenger_.  Get up. _Fight back!”_

I looked at Pietro and Clint.  They weren’t real, I know that much for sure.  Just a figment of my imagination, or the ghosts of past coming back when I was close to death.  Still, they were right.   _Get off the fucking ground.  Don’t let Hydra win that easily_.  I felt a surge of energy in me, as though something electrocuted the rage and the fight back in me.  I grabbed hold of the book and swung madly.  The Red Skull was still beside me and I hit his face forcefully with his binder of buyers.  The Red Skull stumbled backwards, taken aback.  I staggered to my feet.  No weapon, but with enough conviction that I could choke the life out of the Red Skull without even a passing thought.  I grabbed hold of the glass vase on his desk, the one with the dried up, wilted flowers and cracked it over the Red Skull’s head. He jerked around, reeling from the intense blow.  He fell beside his desk, not moving.  Zemo and Rumlow were on me a second later, Zemo grabbing hold of my arms and yanking me away from the Hydra leader, and Rumlow landing a painful blow to my face. I crashed onto the ground, arms landing on glass. Pietro and Clint were still standing there, watching.  I didn’t give up, _couldn’t_ give up. I yanked myself free from Zemo and Rumlow, took hold of a shard of glass and stuck it into Zemo’s leg.  He cried out, grasped his calf and then kicked me over, right into the pile of shards.  I screamed. Zemo pulled me back into his hands.

“Stupid fucking bitch!”  Rumlow yelled.  He pulled a knife out of his pocket, the same one that he used to cut Bucky’s arm off.  He knelt beside me and I tried pulling away but Rumlow grabbed me by the back of my neck.  He pressed the jagged blade against my throat.  “I should kill you now.”

“ _Do it,”_ I seethed.  “Kill me.  Try getting me to talk then.”

Rumlow glowered.  “You must think so highly of yourself, turning in Hydra buyers and trying to take a couple more agents down with you.  We’ll never die out, Wanda. Cut off one head, two more grow take its place.”

“That’s why you stab it in the heart,” I whispered.  I looked at the Red Skull.   _Get yourself free.  Kill the Red Skull._

“You think you have a chance of being free,” Rumlow whispered.  He took the knife away from my throat and then the throbbing in my head and my ribs were replaced with searing pain in my chest.  Rumlow pulled the knife away; it was coated in blood.  My vision was blurring, blacks spots distorting reality around me.  Zemo let go of me as I doubled over, grabbing my abdomen, trying to apply the little pressure I could muster over the stab wound.  Blood was sputtering from my abdomen.  And then, Rumlow was leaning next to me.  “You’re pathetic. Weak.  Just like last night, huh?” he sneered.  I tried pulling away from him, and thankfully, Rumlow didn’t object.  He straightened up, turned to look at Peter, who was teary-eyed and kicking and yanking to get himself free.  “Did your little girlfriend tell you about last night?  Had a lot of fun last night, we did.  Probably more fun than I’m having right now.”

Peter stopped.  “What the fuck are you talking about?”  His eyes were bright with rage.  “What did you do?”

“Your girlfriend’s good,” Rumlow said.  He was in Peter’s face now, staring him down. “Did a good job last night, just lying there. Kind of wished she would have fought a little bit harder, though.  It’s not as fun when they just give up like she did.”

I could see Peter overthinking everything that Rumlow was saying… It was getting too difficult to even keep my eyes open long enough to look at Peter — the pain was excruciating.  No, no, no!  Peter can’t know. My face was getting hot.  I don’t want him to know what happened… “Please don’t,” I whispered.  I don’t even know why I tried. Me begging for Rumlow not to do something only made him want to do something even more.

Peter turned to look at me now.  “I don’t — what are you talking?”

“Your girlfriend’s a little whore, Parker.  Did a damn good job in bed with me last night.” Rumlow was in Peter’s face now, pushing Peter’s shoulder and jerking him around in Doom’s grip.  Peter’s face paled. “That’s right, _Parker_.  I fucked your girlfriend, and she was damn _fucking_ good.”

I kept my head trained on the ground, but I could still see out of the corner of my eye Peter staring down at me.  Horrified, disgusted as the realization of what happened dawned on him.  Peter turned back to Rumlow, eyes narrowed and looking more terrifying than I’d ever seen before. “You — that’s why she wouldn’t… you asshole!” he screamed, kicking Rumlow in the shins and fighting against Doom’s grasp.  Rumlow grunted in pain, eyes scorching.  He punched Peter in the gut. Peter doubled over, moaning.  Rumlow hit him again and again.

I got to my feet, not thinking straight. _Save Peter!_  Even with the blood loss and the pain and the torture, that objective was permanent in my mind.  I charged after Rumlow, pushing him away from Peter. Rumlow was so _huge_ compared to me that I didn’t do much.  I did just enough to stop Rumlow from hitting Peter but then I was thrown flat on my back again.  My head exploded.  Rumlow was kneeling on top of me. _Back at the room.  His hands everywhere.  His lips…_ I felt the air being forced out of me — Rumlow’s hands were tight around my throat.  Choking me. Squeezing my last breath out.  Peter’s was screaming and crying and begging in the background.  I tried clawing at Rumlow’s face and arms to get myself free, but he was too strong.  And then —

Someone big tackled Rumlow, big enough to send both of them colliding into the Red Skull’s desk.  I gasped for air, forcing uneven and harsh breaths back into my system.  I turned.   _Steve_.   _Steve!_  He was here, piled on top of Rumlow, grappling over a gun.  Steve was bigger, stronger and not as hurt as Rumlow.  He wrestled the gun out of Rumlow’s hands with ease and knocked it away a second later.  Behind him, I could hear Zemo advancing on me and to my left, Doom and Peter were struggling over Doom’s gun.  I reached for Rumlow’s.  I had to act fast and I prayed my aim would be accurate.  I shot Doom in the shoulder.  It scared the daylights out of Peter by the way he jumped backwards, but it worked.  Peter threw a huge, wild punch at Doom’s face, enough to send him tumbling to the ground.  I turned to the Red Skull, keeping a shaky grip on the hilt of the gun.  _Shoot him and this would be over_.   _Shoot him and I could be free._ It was hectic trying to scramble to get to the Red Skull.  I had to leap out of the way as Rumlow came rolling past me; Steve round-house kicked him.  I didn’t even spare a second glance at Steve.  I couldn’t think about him, about how utterly _relieved_ I was so to know that Bucky was telling the truth, that he was still alive.   _Get to the Red Skull_.  I had the gun ready and then 

“No!” Zemo yelled.

He grabbed hold of my hair and threw me backwards; the gun slipped from my hand. Zemo wasn’t as big as the other Hydra agents.   _I could handle him_.  All the training Natasha and Steve threw at me in August was coming back to me.   _I could beat Zemo._ He raised his hand, towering over me.  I rolled to the side fast enough so that instead of hitting me, Zemo’s hand came crashing onto the ground instead. The sound of his hand connecting with the wood echoed, as did his scream.  I acted fast, kicked him straight in the stomach and sent him tumbling away from me.   _Get the gun!_ I lunged forward.  Not thinking, just acting. My hands just grazed the gun when I felt Zemo’s grasp on my ankle.  The one I hurt before.  I screamed in agony as he pressed hard on my ankle.  Zemo pulled me by my throat, strangling me just as Rumlow had before.  My fingers were around the hilt of the gun, though and I struck him with it. Zemo let go, his head bleeding. I kicked Zemo in the chest with my good ankle.  He doubled over in agony, breathe barely escaping his chest.  Even with the practically broken ankle, I kept myself upright, standing high above Zemo. _For Clint.  For Pietro._ I punched Zemo in the jaw.  Then in the nose.  Rage was boiling over.  Adrenaline was pumping through my body.  It never even registered that I still had a gun beside me.

“Stop!” the Red Skull growled; he was off the ground now, blood and cuts on his forehead from the glass vase. I craned my head, not letting of Zemo, and gasped.  Rumlow was holding a gun to Steve, blood dripping down his face and smeared across his uniform.  He was doubled over, barely conscious, barely able to move.  On the other side, Doom was gripping Peter by the back of his shirt, Doom’s gun pointed at Peter’s throat.  I dropped Zemo, holding the gun tightly in my hands, looking back at Steve and Peter.  “Well, well, well,” he said, stepping away from his desk to stand in between Rumlow and Steve, and Doom and Peter.  “Looks like you’re in a bit of a dilemma, Ms. Maximoff.  Captain Rogers on one side, your handler and your protector. And Peter Parker on the other, boyfriend and just an innocent bystander.  Both two _very_ important people in your life.  I’m sure you’ve seen enough shows to know that you have to choose. Little cliched but _very_ effective at hurting an enemy.  I’m asking you choose between Steve Rogers or Peter Parker, not to decide who dies and who lives, no.  Something worse. _My_ own take.  _You_ can choose who _you_ want to shoot and kill now.  The life of the one who lives will rest in _my hands_ , and their death will be much, much worse.”

No! _No!_  I shook my head.  “I’m not — you can’t make me do that!”

The Red Skull just laughed, an evil laugh with a crude smile on his face. “Then I put a bullet in both of their legs and let them bleed out slowly in front of you. They’re going to die either way, Ms. Maximoff.  It’s just your choice to decide which one suffers less.”

My mind was spinning, whirling around, hoping that this was just some nightmare from which I would wake up, terrified but still _safe_.  Life wasn’t _that_ fair and that good to me.  I looked back Peter and Steve.  This was impossible — this was wrong.  On a hundred different levels.  I had to _kill_ one of them, look them in the eyes and pull the trigger to take their life.  But it was to protect them at the same time.  It made it million times more complicated, a million times harder to choose because neither deserved to die and neither deserved to suffer.  I looked to Steve.  He was staring into my eyes.  I couldn’t tell if he was pleading for me to kill him or commanding that I kill Peter instead.  I couldn’t tell what Steve was trying to communicate — or if he was trying to communicate _anything_.  And then… I understood.

I pointed the gun at Steve and pulled the trigger.  No hesitation, keeping a strong grip on the hilt of the Hydra sidearm.  Steve jolted backwards but he was alive.  My aim was accurate; Steve’s shoulder was bleeding.  Our plan worked.  The four Hydra agents in the room were distracted.  And in the split second that followed, a million different things happened at once: Steve head butted Rumlow, seized his gun and shot Doom three times.  Doom went down hard, crashing into one of the dressers. Peter was scrambling to get away to a corner far from all the violence.  I kicked Zemo away, jolting him backwards and knocking him unconscious — Rumlow was getting back up… Steve was going after him.  Rumlow wasn’t an issue… Steve could _handle him_.

I looked at the Red Skull.  His face was pale as he watched his plan slip through the cracks.  His control was disappearing.  He made a step toward me but I pointed the gun at him and stared into the Red Skull’s eyes.  I thought of Pietro.  Of Clint.  Of every goddamn person that Hydra’s killed. The hundreds, the thousands of people _scared out_ of their _minds_ because of this man, this barely human thing.   _Do it!_  And I could.  I wanted to so badly.  It wasn’t like the Red Skull didn’t deserve it.  My finger hovered over the trigger.   _I could do it._ It was like time was frozen.  Like Steve and Rumlow were't grappling over a gun.  Or Peter wasn’t scrambling to get away, to protect himself.  All that was left in the room, all that mattered, was the Red Skull and me.

The Red Skull lunged forward, yelling as he did.  I didn’t think.  The gun jolted in my hand as I shot the Red Skull.  And I shot him again.  And again.  And again for good measure.  It might have been excessive, but I had to do it.  The Red Skull was the master of the death, and I _had to_ keep shooting.  Keep firing.  Keep telling myself that he would find a way to come back, to crawl off the ground and still be alive.

But he wasn’t.  “Hail Hydra…” The Red Skull whispered, his final words.  And then he fell, lying on the ground in a pool of his own blood, hand outstretched, face desperate.

My heart was beating so loudly I thought it would escape my chest.  I kept staring at the Red Skull’s face.  He wasn’t moving, anymore.  Because he was dead… The Red Skull was gone.  The man who ordered my death was _gone_.  I couldn’t think.  My brain wasn’t working.  I could see that Steve was on his feet now, clutching his shoulder, throwing one last punch at Rumlow, enough to make his head bend backwards and for him to the fall on the ground.  Seeing but not understanding.  Like a mirage.  Fake.

Yet, it was true. Thanos was gone.  Ultron was gone.  Rumlow couldn’t hurt me, anymore.  And Red Skull was _dead._ Everyone hunting me was finished.  It was finished.  Free.  Liberated.  “Wanda…” Steve said, reaching my side and taking the gun from my hand.  “Wanda, it’s — it’s over.  It’s okay… You’re — you’re safe!”

His words never sank in because moments later, I was falling.

* * *

My eyes opened slowly but I closed them shut when the bright light made me cringe. I felt around: thick bandages were wrapped around my feet and my wrist, there were needles in my arms and a very sharp pain in my stomach.  I rubbed my fingers gently against my abdomen: _stitches_.  Everything else felt sore and weak.  Even breathing seemed too difficult. I blinked a couple of times, getting my eyes used to the light before sniffling and opening wide to take in my surroundings.  A hospital.  A real one, not the one at the underground base.  Tony was sitting by my bed, dressed in a clean vest and was half-asleep.  He looked so peaceful.  And I felt more tears fill my eyes as I looked at him. I sniffled loudly because Tony was alive. Steve was alive.  They weren’t dead… _I_ wasn’t dead.

His eyes lit up.  “Hey kid.”  More tears started dripping down my face.  I looked away.  Just an old habit.  Tony grabbed a box of tissues on one of the tables in my room, pulled out a kleenex and started mopping up my wet cheeks.  “It’s okay. Everyone’s been crying tonight.  I’m pretty sure I even saw Fury crying.  Do you want me to get your nurse?”

Tony got up from his chair but I reached out, grabbed his hand with the sole purpose of making sure that he was real and wasn’t just a figment of my imagination.  I couldn’t find it in myself to speak, not after the mammoth of events that happened in the last couple of days.  I kept Tony with me as I tried to process what happened. _Make a list_ , I thought to myself.  I did this when Pietro shot Strucker, when Steve and Natasha got me out.  Helped organized my thoughts.  Made everything seem easier to handle even though I still sometimes thought certain events were just _dreams_. Hydra kidnapped Peter and me from the underground base.  I thought everyone died.  But the Winter Soldier, Bucky, was a S.H.I.EL.D. agent.  He helped Peter and me. And I… I shot the Red Skull. That last thought sent my mind spinning and my heart racing.  I couldn’t quite get my head around it successfully.

“Are Peter and Steve… are they…” I started but never finished. A part of me knew they weren't dead; Tony wouldn't be smiling the way he was if someone died. But I still needed to ask. Confirmation would help me think clearer.

“Alive. Steve got out surgery and he's doing alright. I could practically hear him shouting at Fury from down the hall, and Peter’s fine. On some pain meds but he’ll heal,” Tony said, and I let out a massive sigh of relief, one that sent pain shooting up my side. “Let me get your nurse, okay.”

“Tony,” I interrupted.  “Tony, is the Red Skull really gone?”

Tony nodded fervently.  “Yeah, Wanda, he's dead.”

“There — there was this book the Red Skull was making me look at it.  It had a list of all the Hydra buyers and sellers,” I stammered.

Tony held up his hands.  “We know, Wanda. S.H.I.E.L.D. is cleaning house. They took and found everything all on a silver platter. You took the Red Skull down and the rest of Hydra is going with it.  Anyone associated with Hydra’s wrongdoings are either turning themselves in or going into hiding.  Arnim Zola took a deal and it looks like Zemo is, too.  Wanda, it's really over.”  

That was weird — that combination of words felt so foreign to me.  Even with the Red Skull dead, Hydra can't dissolve over night. Loyal followers and the likes wouldn't just _give themselves up_.  And yet, people were turning their back on Hydra; after all, it wasn't like the Red Skull could hurt them anymore.  He couldn't hurt me anymore.  I shouldn't have to be scared anymore.  But still… I couldn't just forget about what happened.  The pain and the fear and the torture would linger with me for years, maybe even my whole life. I felt the tears coming back as the last few days replayed itself on fast forward.

“I thought Bucky said he was gonna blow the place to bits,” I managed through an onslaught of tears.

Tony chuckled.  “That was his plan but then S.H.I.E.L.D. found you guys.”  I laughed, a watery shaky laugh.  “Hey, it’s okay,” Tony whispered. And I knew it really was going to be okay, but that just made me cry harder. “Jesus, kid,” he whispered.

Tony got up from his chair, set the box of tissues on the edge of my bed, put one arm around my back and then pulled me into his arms.  I tried relax into Tony's arms — it was just Tony — but I couldn't.  I eased myself out of Rumlow’s grasp.  Not Rumlow’s… Tony’s grasp.

“Kind of hurts.  The ribs, I mean,” I lied. Peter already knew, and that was worse enough.  Tony didn’t need to know, and Steve was the last person I wanted to know.  

Tony looked down at me suspiciously for one long second and then he sighed. “Okay… _okay_ …”  

We sat in silence for a couple seconds longer, and then the door opened again. While I was hoping to see Steve or Nat or Sam or Sharon, it was Nick Fury.  Eye patch and twisted smile and all.  He came up to the side of my bed, looking down at me with his narrowed eyes.  “Good morning, Ms. Maximoff,” Nick Fury said.

“Uh, hi…” I said back, a response that felt unnatural, especially since exchanging formalities with Nick Fury wasn’t exactly _normal_.  “What, uh, what can I do for you?”

“I just wanted to say thank you,” Nick Fury said.  “You’ve done — you’ve done a lot. And that’s a big damn understatement.” That was also weird.  Nick Fury being grateful and being sincere about that gratefulness no less.  “I guess I need to apologize on behalf of S.H.I.E.L.D.  We tried hard to keep you as removed as possible from Hydra, and yet we put you right in the middle of a Hydra hotbed.  Should’ve just let Romanoff and Rogers make that list of potential safehouses.  You and your brother did your part well.  Just a few testimonies and it’ll be over.”

“Testimonies?” I asked.

“We’re going off the presumption that not all the Hydra agents will take the plea bargains.  We still have plenty of evidence piled against every agent but you will be vital in solidifying the prosecution’s case,” Fury explained.

“I’ll have to _relive_ it all?” I muttered.  I couldn’t tell a court full of strangers what Rumlow did, not when he’s watching me, not when everyone I know would be watching me.

“Only briefly.  You are a key part in bringing down Hydra so you _will_ have to be in court,” Fury said.

I nodded.  I don’t know why I expected anything else.  “What happens now?” I asked.  

Fury shrugged.  “Now, you can do whatever. Be whomever.   _Go_ wherever.  Really, I’m just here to give you something.”  Fury reached into the depths of his leather overcoat and pulled out a thin, rectangular envelope with _Wanda Maximoff_ written in block letters on the front.  “Consider this our thank you note, and one of many, may I add.”  I took the envelope skeptically and opened it.  Another small gray piece of paper inside.  I glanced at the writing briefly and then had to do a double take.  It was a check made out to me for $500,000.

“Holy sh…” I trailed off.  My mind was blank.

“This is just one of many, may I add. You’re what?  Seventeen now?” Fury thought to himself for a couple of seconds and then said, “We’ll keep sending these to you until you’re twenty-one. Probably won’t be this much but it’ll be enough to get you through the next few years until you get back on your feet.  May piss off a few higher ups but you deserve this.  Just talk to this one if you need some help investing.”  Fury pointed to Tony as he rounded on the door and left quickly.

I felt confused as I saw Nick Fury leave. Maybe I was wrong about him.  Maybe he wasn’t this secretive asshole who put his agenda above everyone else.  Maybe he just _had_ to be the way because of all the shit he was expected to know and expected to accept without fight.  But this, _this check_  was the first sign of gratitude, and it felt great.  It might have been selfish for me to _really_ enjoy how it felt to be appreciated.  I didn’t care, though.  This was the best I’ve felt in years.  

“Wow…” Tony said, looking down at the check.  “You and I _will_ have to talk, of course.  We’ll need this for college and cars and vacations and homes you’ll want in the future.”

“Probably therapy, too,” I muttered.

“And I’m sure we can get S.H.I.E.L.D. to cover that,” Tony said.  Like therapy for teenagers was normal.  “But first, you deserve a treat, Wanda.  Come on.  Make a list of wherever the hell you want to go and I’ll make sure it happens.  I’ll make sure you have the greatest time ever.”  

There was another knock on the door, and then gentle footsteps.  It was Laura Barton. Still very pregnant, and eyes very tearful as she stared at me.  I couldn’t believe it.  I hadn’t even thought about Laura, at least not since Florida, and when I saw her, my heart soared.  I was in her arms a second later, _engulfed_ in her grip.  I felt safe, and I felt loved, and I never wanted to let go of this woman.  I know Laura and I hardly knew each other, but that didn’t matter because she cared about me like I was her own daughter and I loved her like she was my mother.  I was crying without even realizing it and so was she.  We were both happy because we both knew that, no matter what, we were going to be okay. And that would never change.

“Oh, oh I’m so glad you’re okay,” Laura whispered.  She looked me in the eyes for one second and then pulled me into another hug, “I’ve missed you so much.”  

I couldn’t even speak in response.

“So what happens now?” Laura asked.  She looked over at Tony.

He shrugged.  “She, well, she can do whatever she wants now.”

“That’s fantastic!” Laura looked back at me. “We’ll — I’ll move my family out to Manhattan.  I’m sure we’ll find a place. Somewhere close to Manhattan Academy so you can keep going there and, once you’re ready for a more permanent home, if you’re interested of course, I’m sure we can find a place for you in our family. If that’s what you want.”

That was something new.  The inviting idea of having a family with siblings and a permanent home.  I thought it was impossible for me to be any happier, any more excited but I was.  I just nodded, incoherently jabbering about how perfect that sounded.  She pressed a light kiss on the top of my forehead.

Laura stayed with Tony and me for a little bit longer.  Lila and Cooper, who were at the cafeteria, came to join us a little later, and I sobbed just as hard when I saw the two of them.  Neither really understood why I was in the hospital or why I was so _emotional_ at the sheer sight of them laughing and drawing and smiling.  Tony and I drew with Laura’s kids while Laura went on about her due date that was rapidly coming up.  Next week.  Another Barton — Nathaniel Pietro Barton.  I put the crayon down, looking up at Laura.  “I figured your brother deserved his memory to live on, especially since he brought you to us,” Laura explained.  I was crying again, and it felt so silly for me to getting so emotional.  No one cared and a four sets of arms were around me again.

I wasn’t sure how long the Bartons were here but well beyond a couple of hours later, a nurse came scuffling inside, unhappy when she realized I was awake and no one contacted for medical assistance.  Laura took her kids away, promising that she would come back to visit.  The nurse checked my stitches, listed off the slew of medication I had to take (Tylenol for the headaches from the concussion and another type of pain medication with a name I didn't recognize), and handed me a stack of papers.  A list of how to properly and effectively heal a concussion; recommended physical therapists to help recover from the slew of physical injuries I had; the best ways to deal with broken ribs; getting fake teeth implanted; and lots and lots of pamphlets on recovering from severe mental and emotional trauma, including but not limited to sexual assault.  So many words and so many different things to juggle; a strong, staggering headache started to set in.  Tony could sense how stressed out I was starting to feel and quickly took all the papers and medications from the nurse.  Then, the nurse insisted I take a fresh botch of pain medication, eat and drink something and try to get some more sleep.  I was left alone for a couple of minutes, which gave me a chance to collect my thoughts, to try and relax, before Tony walked back inside with a tray of food.  Soup and a glass of water.  After I was finished, Tony took my tray and demanded I go to sleep.  I didn’t argue.  My mind was in a haze and my body was so exhausted that I didn’t have the energy to argue.  Tony tucked me in and my eyes shut.

The next time I woke up, the reunions weren’t over.  These reunions, even though we were only apart for a couple of days, were gut-wrenching.  It was one emotional upheaval after the other and my migraine-ridden head could barely keep up.  People came and went in a haze.  First Sharon and Sam came in together, Sam just sitting around and grinning while Sharon tearfully said goodbye — probably permanently.  She was flying out to Germany to assist the other S.H.I.E.L.D. agents in rounding up Hydra agents.  While Fury wanted her to leave as soon as possible, Sharon insisted on staying at least until I was out of the hospital and settled in at home and Fury finally gave in.  It was hard saying goodbye to Sharon, even though she only recently joined our team.  She was another person with which I didn’t have to hide around, and I didn’t have a lot of those.  The two of them left shortly after, something about them being in charge of cleaning up the Hydra base. Replacing them a moment later was Steve and Natasha.  They were dressed in laymen’s clothes.  Natasha was in the best shape out of the two of them and, despite Steve’s arm being in a sling and his face marred with bruises, he radiated health.  As they walked toward the side of my bed, I noticed their hands tangled together.  I wasn’t sure how much their relationship evolved from being strictly partners, but it didn’t matter.  What mattered was that they were happy, happier than I’d ever seen them in the past few months.

We didn’t say a lot to each other, mostly because there wasn’t a lot to say.  Peter told Steve and Nat what Rumlow did and they confirmed it with the nurses and doctors that examined me.  Steve was angry, boiling angry, and his reaction reminded me so much of Pietro.  Natasha handled her anger differently.  She wasn’t outwardly angry but I knew that calmness just made her all the more dangerous. They only mentioned it briefly at first, reading off a couple of support groups they thought I should join and that was it.  An offer for help.  No need to pander on the past, especially when they knew I wasn’t ready to talk to them about it.  It was too humiliating, too fresh of an incident.  But they were there for me; they made sure I understood that.  And then, when Steve and Nat were finished talking about that, I found myself in yet another group hug. This one was different.  The meaning behind this hug was much different for the three of us.  We’ve been through everything together.  They saw Pietro’s body.  They knew how hard it was for me to get past it.  And they know how long this road to recovery will be.  Steve promised he would do whatever he had to in order for me to grow beyond the past, and he promised he would never leave.  Apparently, he wasn’t a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent anymore, which meant, like me, a lot of free time.  Nat was still on the fence about what she was going to do now but she also promised if I ever needed her, she would be there.  It was promises, and I knew they wouldn’t broke those promises.

Steve’s friend, Bucky, joined us a little later. That was an odd conversation.  He kept apologizing to me, to Steve, to Nat, really to anyone that would listen.  There was pain in his eyes, but there was a sort of strength, a determination to keep fighting. I wasn’t sure of Bucky’s full story, and I’m sure he wasn’t ready to share it with a stranger yet.  I understood.  After just a couple of minutes, I could tell Bucky wanted to leave and Steve recognized that, too.

“I think we should probably get going,” Steve said.  He got up from his chair, Natasha following shortly.  “But if you’re up for it, there’s a couple other people who want to see you.”

“Of course,” I said.

“They might be a little rowdy — and a little confused,” Natasha said.

She opened the door slowly and in burst Michelle and Ned, dressed in sweats and hoodies, followed by Aunt May pushing in Peter, who was sitting in a wheelchair.  And suddenly I wasn’t paying attention to Steve or Nat and I couldn’t feel the headaches or the pain.  It didn’t matter because Peter looked like he was doing great.  He was wearing gray sweats and blue long sleeve shirt.  His hair was slightly messed up.  One of his eyes were swollen shut and the majority of his face was a sickly yellowish, purple tinge but that glow in his eyes (the open one at least) was back.  Peter was staring at me just the same, and his smile stretched even farther across his face.  I looked away for Peter for a second, swallowing my emotions and looking at the others.  Michelle and Ned looked more relieved than anything but Aunt May, still young and very beautiful, looked exhausted and red-eyed.  She was the only person who still seemed utterly _shocked_.  

“Whoa… your eyes,” Ned said, breaking the silence.  

I laughed, a real one. “Yeah, I…” I stopped myself.  I didn’t need to keep up with the American accent.  Not anymore.  “Yeah, I wore brown contacts,” I said.  The Sokovian accent wasn’t as thick as it was before, obviously.  I shouldn’t expect anything else when I’ve been pretty well immersed into the American tongue, but I could still detect the hidden layers of Eastern Europe.  

“Hey, that’s the accent I heard at the football game,” Peter said.

“It’s Sokovian,” I said.

“It’s pretty awesome,” Peter said.

I smiled.  “I, uh… I think I owe you guys an explanation.”  I hesitated, but I realized I didn’t need to. I could be whoever I wanted to be. I could be Scarlet from Sokovia with a dark past and a broken home; or I could be Wanda from Oregon, who kept her true self hidden. I could be a mix of both. There was no need to hide anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Originally, I was going to have this story end at twenty-five chapters but when I was drafting the last one, there was so much that I needed to include I'm breaking it up.
> 
> So, there's going to be one more chapter :)


	24. Steve Rogers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve sorts through the mess left after the Red Skull is killed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well guys, this is the last chapter coming from Steve Roger's POV. Hope you guys have enjoyed reading from Steve's perspective as much as I have enjoyed writing it :)

Chapter Twenty-Four: Steve Rogers

As I saw Wanda’s eyes close and her head drop, I raced forward, faster than I’ve moved this whole night.  I caught her swiftly, lowering her incredibly small frame to the ground.  She was coated with blood, her chest was bleeding from a knife wound, and her ankle looked unbelievably swollen. I unzipped my vest and yanked free some of my shirt, pushing it down on her stomach. I heard footsteps, but it was just Peter.  He knelt by her side, eyes wide with fear.  He looked _horrible_ , his face and arms covered with bruises and dried blood.  “Is — is she going to be okay?” Peter whispered, his voice shallow with fear.  Then, Peter looked up at me, eyes on my shoulder.  It finally registered in my mind that I was bleeding just as badly as Wanda: the gunshot wound was excruciating.  “Are _you_ going to be okay?”

“I, uh,” I gave Wanda to Peter, who moaned in pain slightly as he took her in his arms.  I pressed my hand onto my shoulder, looking around for something, _anything_ , to use for pressure.  I narrowed in on Doom’s mangled, bloody body.  I tore off a piece of his own shirt and pressed it against my shoulder.  “I’ll be fine… I’ve had worse than this,” I admitted.  A lot worse than just this. I pushed Doom’s body away — I wasn’t letting myself process anything at the moment.  Not letting myself spare a second glance at the Red Skull’s dead body, sprawled across the ground like a rag doll. I got to my feet, dragging myself over to Peter and Wanda.  “EMTs are already here,” I muttered.  One of Melinda May’s men were shot down — Lance Hunter.  GSW to the abdomen.  Melinda May dragged him out.  “They’ll take you guys to the hospital. It’s going to be okay.”

It _was_ going to be okay.  The Red Skull was dead.  The _Hydra leader_ was dead.  No one could possibly pose as much of a threat to these two teenagers as the Red Skull.  And it was true: our raid was _very_ successful. We came in quietly, Camp Lehigh looking the exact same as it had when Bucky and I went here for training camp.  The main base at Camp Lehigh was exactly what it looked like, a little army area where the higher-ups discussed current strategies and how training could be more successful.  The only difference was  the little elevator in the back of the main part of headquarters.  It was modern and _wasn’t_ supposed to be there because there was only one floor in this building.  Tony overrode the security systems set up on the elevator with no problem and we quietly made our way down the elevator.  The place was crawling with Hydra men, lurking everywhere in the shadows, absolutely unaware that we had arrived.  And we kept it that way.  Kept anyone from pulling secret alarms to alert the entire base.  I kept my eyes peeled for Rumlow, Bucky and the Red Skull.  We exchanged for a few rounds with a couple Hydra agents and in the midst, Lance Hunter was shot down; Natasha had to replace him with searching Hydra rooms.  I followed the scream by myself… followed it to Wanda.  

When I saw her, it was a mix of relief and also terror.  She wasn’t dead yet, but Rumlow was strangling her, her legs and arms barely twitching as Rumlow squeezed the last breath of life from her.  And alas… _the Red Skull was dead_ , I repeated. _Rumlow was captured._

The door burst open.  I reached for my gun on instinct but it was just Natasha, a huge cut on her bottom lip but otherwise unharmed.  She looked around, eyes wide as she saw Doom and then the Red Skull, and then she saw Peter and Wanda.  She gasped.  “Oh god,” she whispered, dropping down beside Peter and getting a good look at Wanda.  “Sam, get EMTs to the farthest room on the right on the first floor.  ASAP.” She looked over at me — her eyes were killing me more than the gunshot was. Natasha pressed her hand against Peter’s cheek and then came to my side, pulling me into her arms.  “We — we got ‘em, Steve,” she barely managed.  “Most of Hydra’s kill squad. _We got ‘em!”_

“What about…” I couldn’t think anymore. “What about _Bucky?”_

“I… I’m not sure,” she said, honestly.  “I mean, _he’s alive_.  He was in the bottom level in his room, unconscious, with Ultron and Thanos’s bodies in his _closet_! And his arm was gone.”  

My head was spinning.  “I — I — what?!” I sputtered.  

The EMTs burst into the room now, and I had to put aside my thoughts for a second longer.  I got up, my legs straining in pain as I did, and made my way to Peter and Wanda.  Peter was too weak to even hold up Wanda anymore, so he didn't protest when the EMT reached for Wanda.  I helped one of the EMTs pick up Wanda and lie her down on one of the gurneys.  She still wasn’t awake but I could see her chest rising slowly — she was still alive.  Natasha was already lifting Peter off the ground, putting him down on the gurney.  Peter groaned as his back hit the soft cotton and he sighed in relief.  A second later, Peter’s eyes were closed.  An EMT came up to me, glancing at my shoulder.  “No, no, I’m okay,” I said, brushing off the EMT.  “Had worse.”

Natasha’s hand was on my back now and she was pushing me toward the third gurney.  “You need to go to the hospital, Steve because if you bleed out, I’m going to kill you,” Natasha threatened.  I let out a throaty laugh as she eased me down onto the gurney.  

“What about Bucky?” I asked again.

“Shhh,” Natasha whispered.  She brushed her hand against my own.  “Bucky’s going to be there, too.  Fury said he'll personally see to it that Bucky gets treated soon…”

That struck me as odd.  Fury hardly even cared about what happened to Wanda, yet he was dedicated to making sure a Hydra assassin got to the hospital safely.  I didn’t even bother trying to understand it. Nothing was making sense anymore.  Not the fact that Bucky shot us with blanks. Not the fact that Wanda and Peter above all odds made it out alive.  Not the fact that _the Red Skull_ was dead.  And not the fact that all I could think about was how much I wanted to kiss Natasha.  Just because the Red Skull died doesn’t mean that Hydra was over, far from it actually, but it was near finished.  Hydra survived solely on the fact that everyone was so scared of the Red Skull that no one dared to start a coup against it.  But now… the opportunities were endless.  It was a breath of fresh air, and I could see that Natasha was feeling the same way with her expression.  A very happy expression.  Hadn’t seen that smile on her face in a very long time.

We were waiting by the elevator now; it was too small to fit all three gurneys up and so Wanda and Peter, who needed the most medical attention, were on their way now. Sam and Sharon were escorting Peter and Wanda, along with a slew of other S.H.I.E.L.D. agents just in case.  The Hydra base was now crawling with S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, a few dumping out drawers and taking fingerprints, the others rounding up Hydra agents, all handcuffed, pushing them into a corner.  Twisted satisfaction boiled up in the pit of my stomach as I watched Rumlow and Zemo being added to the pile. Rumlow looked up at Natasha and me, this menacing, awful expression on his face. Natasha caught sight of it.  “Just one second,” she said, gesturing for the gurney to stop.  She walked over to Rumlow, who looked up at her behind a glare.  And then, Natasha sucker punched Rumlow in the nose.  “That’s for Clint.”  And then she walked back to me with an indifferent expression on her face.  

“You amaze me,” I muttered.

She just smiled.  “That’s the gunshot wound talking.  Let’s get you to the hospital,” Natasha said.  

She helped the EMT get me into the elevator.  Upstairs, we weaved our way through tables and then down the ramp.  It was refreshing being outside, the cool air on my hot neck and burning clothes.  Just like the inside, S.H.I.E.L.D. agents were crawling across the open field, pushing in Hydra agents into a large black van.  I was hoisted into a small ambulance, the EMTs getting to work with hooking me up to fluids and began to properly bandage my shoulder.  Now that we were out of that chaotic Hydra base, I finally had the chance to _feel_ the pain of a gunshot wound.  I groaned, reaching for Natasha’s hand.  She didn’t say anything, just kept hold of my hand as the EMTs did their work.  Whenever I felt myself close my eyes, Natasha’s grip tightened a little bit and I opened my eyes to look at her.  She was pale as a ghost, eyes looking very heavy.  Exhausted.  We all were, and everyone needed medical treatment, even Natasha who seemed the most unharmed.  The closest New Jersey hospital was about twenty minutes away, especially with how fast the ambulances were barreling down the road.  Every part of me was aching so I was thoroughly glad when we pulled into the parking lot of the Hackensack Meridian Health Riverview Medical Center.  I was rushed outside, through the weaving, chaotic halls and to the ER.  The rest was a blur.  Natasha being forced to stay behind.  The anesthetics were starting to kick it.  The blackness…

* * *

_“There’s only three things that's for sure_. _Taxes, death and trouble_ …” Music was playing in the background, cutting through the dark silence.  Marvin Gaye.  Troubleman soundtrack.  When Sam and I first came back from the war, we would sometimes carpool to therapy sessions, he would blare this song so loudly it would hurt my ears, his own way of keeping his thoughts out of his mind.  “ _This I know, baby.  This I know, sugar.”_ I opened my eyes slightly.  I was in a hospital room, wires running up and down my arms, machines beeping steadily.  My head was propped up against some pillow and I was wearing uncomfortable, cotton fabric.  A metal tray was on one side of my bed with Sam’s phone hooked up to a stereo blasting music.  On the other side was Sam perched in a chair, flipping through a folder quietly.  He didn’t look too bad.  A couple of a bruises and a cut on his temple and that was it.

I thought of our old joke.  Whenever Sam and I would go for a run on the track and I passed him, I would always say, “On your left.”

Sam looked up from the folder, lips stretched into a smile.  “Yeah whatever, asshole.  Good to know you’re awake, Cap. Didn’t realize surgery on your shoulder can fuck you up that badly.

I leaned up in the hospital bed, laughing. The pain in my shoulder had subsided, a testament to how much pain medication that hospital put me on.  “It’s been awhile since I’ve actually gotten shot.  Where’s Nat?  And Wanda?  And Peter?  Where is everyone?”  A million questions were popping in my head.  

Sam held his hands up, “Easy now.”  He got up, took his phone off of the speaker, the music shutting off instantly and walked back to his seat.  He messed with phone for a second and then looked at me.  “They’re safe, Steve.  They’re safe… They’ve got a shitload of medical issues but they’re safe.”

His words resonated with me for a second. _They’re safe_.  Really safe.  The Red Skull was gone, I kept repeating to myself, over and over again.  “And Lance?”

“He’s good.  Stabilized.  Daisy and Melinda are with him now,” Sam said.  “Nat and Sharon are talking things over with Peter’s family.  Nat will be in here soon.  I’m just keeping you company until she arrives.”

“And then?”

Sam shrugged.  “Probably check on Wanda. She’s asleep — Tony’s with her so she isn’t alone.  Afterwards, I’ll probably get Chinese food.  Sleep for a few days.  And then I think Fury wants Sharon and I to head back to S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters upstate, help Fury sort through all the Hydra agents we just get…” Sam paused for a second, and then he looked over at me, this stunned expression on his face.  He chuckled.  “God, can you believe it man?  The Red Skull’s dead.”

“Hasn’t quite hit me yet,” I said.

“I guess when Wanda moves out, it’ll hit you,” Sam said.

I waited to speak for a long second.  If Hydra really was finished, Wanda didn’t need us to live with her and protect her anymore.  No more comms.  No more having to sit around in the apartment looking at surveillance videos of Peter and Wanda at school.  No more of Fury’s updates about how useless S.H.I.E.L.D. has been with trying to take down Hydra.  It was over.  Finally over… which also meant that it was over being Wanda’s parents, being her family.  We weren’t required to live with Wanda in Manhattan; Fury probably won’t even let Nat and me stick around with Wanda any longer.  Then, as it dawned on me that my time with Wanda and Tony and even Sam were dwindling, millions of questions started forming in my head.  Who was going to take care of Wanda?  Where was she going to live?  Who would be her family?  Would S.H.I.E.L.D. even care what happened to Wanda now that the Red Skull was dead?

“Maybe she can move in with Tony, man,” Sam said.

“Yeah, maybe,” I muttered.  She’d enjoy that.  She really would.  Big house with luxuries that Wanda’s never had; a guy she knows (even with the Red Skull gone, I doubt that she’d be okay with living with a stranger) and most importantly, a guy that truly cares about her.  Sure, Tony’s busy. He has a huge empire to run and perhaps taking care of a teenager wasn’t what he wanted.  But who else is there?  “I’ll talk to him.”

The door opened a second later and Natasha walked inside.  She was out of her uniform now, dressed in army green jacket and pair of black pants.  Her hair hung loose down her back in wavy, frizzy curls. When I saw her, I let out a sigh of relief. Her lip was a little puffy but she was okay, better than okay.  That exhausted, weary, anxious look in her eyes were gone.  I caught her eyes immediately and she beamed.

“I think I’ll get going,” Sam said, standing up.  “You look like you’re in good hands.”

“Thank you, Sam,” I said as he left.  I looked back at Natasha.  There was an ease with which she slumped into the chair, yawning and then reaching out to take my hand.  I wanted to ask Natasha about Bucky, that was only on my mind, but I had to save that for later.  “Good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you talking, Cap,” Natasha said.

“Give me the full run on down on our two kids,” I said, not taking my eyes off of her.

Natasha scoffed.  “ _Our kids_ ,” she repeated, looking away; I finally noticed how her lashes seemed to go on forever.  “Hydra did a number on them… both are dehydrated. Both are malnourished.  Peter has four broken ribs, a concussion, a broken nose, fractured elbow, some minor internal bleeding and bruises everywhere else. Wanda’s got it a little bit worse.  Couple broken ribs, a concussion as well, broken ankle, about twenty stitches in her chest, a partially dislocated shoulder, sprained wrist, crushed larynx, bruises, PTSD… and, uh…” Natasha bit down on her bottom lip. “Steve, I talked to Peter and… and, I think Rumlow… Steve, I think Rumlow raped her.”

I held my breath for one long moment. I couldn’t believe it, and I didn’t want to. She was just a kid.  Rumlow’s a scumbag but how could he… _why_ would he… I don’t why I had to answer those questions.  He’s sick.  All of Hydra was sick and twisted and fucked up.  I knew the rules as well as an actual Hydra agent.  No relationships, so why not take advantage of a girl when they’re forced to be with Hydra agents?  It made me nauseous just think about how scared — how awful Wanda must feel right now, and desperate she’ll probably be to forget about it. _She’s just a kid_.   _She’s your responsibility_.  How could I let that happen?

“Steve,” Natasha whispered.

“ _I’m going to kill him_ ,” I seethed.

“I know,” Natasha said.  “He’s going to die in prison, Steve.  He’ll get what he deserves.”

“Not good enough,” I said.  

There were plenty of different ways that I could make sure he got what deserves and rotting in a cushy jail cell wasn’t enough. And Natasha’s worse than me, more terrifying and more creative with her ways to inflict pain on another person.  If Fury could let Nat have a crack at her… five minutes.  That was all she needed to make Rumlow hide in a corner, crying for the next four days, leave Rumlow scarred for life, just like he did for Wanda.  Open up new wounds that only made the old one worse. Because Hydra did a lot worse to Wanda. All the PTSD, all the nightmares, all the baggages, all the loss.  I could kill Rumlow without even blinking an eye, the way that Hydra’s kill squad was trained to kill, and I hated killing.  Even in the army.  I only killed if it was required to protect the little guy.  With Rumlow, I wouldn’t just be killing him for protection.  It’d be for revenge.  

“She’s strong, Steve,” Nat said.  She was shaking her head, though, glaring as though even she didn’t believe what she was saying.  “And we’re going to be there to get her through it.  S.H.I.E.L.D. has plenty of therapists.  She and Peter are probably gonna need it after what happened…”

The way she spoke about the overwhelming amount of therapy those two teenagers, _kids_ , were going to need wasn’t dismissive but more casual, more like it was inevitable that the road to recovery was going to be arduous, painful, emotional and damaging. I can’t deny that I treated therapy for Wanda and Peter the same way.  It _was_ necessary.  Hell, after the torture and the missions and the bloodshed Natasha and I went through, _we_ needed therapy.  That was never given to us.  Agents had to learn to cope their own ways, and often times assets were just as forgotten.  S.H.I.E.L.D. never provided these sorts of necessities for us.  Kind of shitty if you think about it. Even the way society treats soldiers is the same way.  Not everyone gets the help they deserve.  I didn’t want Wanda and Peter to end up that way, not when they were two kids who, respectively, could finally start her future or could continue on with the future he already paved for himself.  

“Make sure S.H.I.E.L.D. pays for their therapy sessions,” I said.

“Of course,” Natasha said.  There was a long pause and then she said, “Remember the very first Hydra-centered mission you and I had together, Steve?”

I nodded.  “Yeah.”  It was in D.C., and was the second S.H.I.E.L.D. mission I ever had. Hydra captured some high profile weapons that allows them to target anyone in the world and shoot them down in the blink of the eye.  I’m talking about any S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, any political figure that didn’t believe in Hydra, or even their drycleaner who couldn’t get a bloodstain out of the Red Skull’s jacket.  In seconds, millions could have been killed.  We worked in secret, still struggling to get used to each other, and me still very unsure of myself as S.H.I.E.L.D. agent.  I was trying to find my footing in the world of espionage.  It was also the first of many times that Nat and I almost died at Hydra’s hand.  One our safe houses was bombed and I pulled Nat out from the wreckage; I almost drowned and Nat got me out of the water.  We barely destroyed the chips that control Hydra’s weapons.  “Can’t really forget something like that.  Pretty high stakes for a new S.H.I.E.L.D. agent.”

“But,” Natasha said, “it was the first time Hydra almost killed us.  I suppose it’d be kind of foolish of us to think that today is the last time Hydra tries to hurt us, but I think it might be.”

I wanted everything Natasha said to be true.  More than true. _Reality_.  But even if the Red Skull was dead, there were still plenty of Hydra agents out there and plenty of corrupt government officials that would support Hydra through it all.  It'll take some more time until all of Hydra was wiped clean, and probably a lot more lives would be lost, too.  And even after all the Hydra agents were rounded up, Natasha and I would testify, go through a slew of awful paperwork, rehash old memories we don’t want to remember.  Trials would be terrible and public.  Hopefully, if the prison the Hydra agents are put to is secure enough, that would be the end of the Hydra.  But we wouldn’t really be _free_.  There would be always be another Red Skull, just one with a different face and different crime organization.  We would always be chasing down another psychopath who has no idea what real freedom and real power means.  I could hardly consider myself a victim of Hydra, but I really didn’t want to go through what I had to go through with Hydra again.

“What do you think Fury is going to do to us after this?  What new place are we going to be stationed?” Natasha asked.

I shrugged.  “I still have two months of an unpaid suspension.”  Natasha didn’t know about that, and I explained how unhappy Fury had been after that failed raid.

Natasha frown deepened.  “I didn’t know that… Well, okay.  Maybe you and I can stay here for a little bit.  Make sure Wanda gets back on her feet okay.  Keep an eye on her just in case.  Fury probably won’t spring for apartment anymore but I’m sure Tony will find something for us.”

I raised my eyebrows.  “Nat…” I touched her cheek.  “Nat, you don’t have to stay with me if you don’t want to.”

Natasha met my hand at her cheek with her own.  “But I _want_ to stay with you, Steve. We’ve been partners for the past five years, and I’m not ready to let you go.” She was off the chair now, leaning in close to me.  Her lips trailed against my cheek, peppering me with light kisses.  Then, her lips found my own.  She was kissing me and I was kissing her back and everything felt like it was going to be okay.  I didn’t think about how awful the world was around me, or how exhausting and soul-wrenching it was to be a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent.  It was just Nat and me.  That’s all that mattered at the moment, all that I could get my worn-down brain to focus on right now.  Natasha pulled away.  “Are we doing something stupid?”

“I don’t care,” I muttered.  I pulled Nat back, kissing her more passionately, more fervently.  I thought of Peggy.  A part of me felt like I was betraying her, turning my back on the woman I loved for so many years and would continue to love for so many more years.  I wasn’t ready to shut Peggy out, and I don’t think I should.  Peggy Carter taught me what love was and she taught me how to make a relationship work.  It’s been five years since she has died.  She wouldn’t want me caught up in the past, caught up in still loving her.  She’d want me happy and thinking that I could be that Nat made me happy and it made me excited.  

We heard a cough and slowly pulled away from each other.  Fury was standing by the doorway, looking down at Natasha and me. I let go of Natasha, who straightened up. The director of S.H.I.E.L.D. walked inside slowly, perceptively, the single eye whizzing around the hospital room until it focused on Nat and me.  “I see you two are enjoying your hospital stay.”

“Director Fury—”

“There’s no need to explain,” he said, hanging his hand up.  He came to stop in front of Natasha and me.  “You’re looking better, Captain Rogers.”

“Guess the hospital’s treating me good,” I said.

Fury glanced at Natasha.  “I’m sure,” he said.  “I just wanted to come in and congratulate you two on a job well done. I’ve been sorting through Camp Lehigh Hydra base mess for past eight hours, and I can say that our findings are _promising_.  A huge binder full of Hydra’s buyers.  All of Hydra’s kill squad was there tonight so we don’t have to worry about tracking them. And the files!  Files upon files of information we’re just about finished decrypting thanks to a one _Arnim Zola_  that contain lists of every known Hydra agent.  It’ll take a little bit of time to get ourselves sorted, but things are turning out well for us.”

“What are you doing with Zola and the other Hydra agents?” I asked.

Fury grinned.  “We’ve got some good jail cells for them.  They’re not getting free any time soon, Captain Rogers.  Zola’s the only one we got talking, though.  Offered him a little more of a cushy place, far away from any other Hydra agents.  He gave us everything.  Sneaky little bastard.”

“And you’re bargaining with him even though you just found he's a double-crossing son of a bitch?” Natasha asked.

“Trust me, you should see the cell we have planned for Zola.  Not much of a step up,” Fury said.  “Word about the Red Skull’s death is spreading around as well.  Buyers are starting to realize they’re pretty much screwed so they’re coming forward to local law enforcements, giving themselves up as soon as possible to get the best bargain before things get real bad for them.”

What Fury was saying was too hard to believe...  If Hydra agents are really turning themselves in or going into hiding at the very least, Wanda could have the life she deserved.  The life that Pietro wanted for her, and the life that Clint died for her to have.  She could be a teenager, one who didn't need to bring a gun everywhere. 

“What does this mean for us?” Natasha said.  Her voice cut through my thoughts.  I could see a look of uneasiness on her face as she glanced down from me and then back at Fury.  

Fury shrugged.  “You two have spent the last five years going after Hydra.  I’m sure it’s time that you guys celebrate a nice, well-fought mission.” That sounded weird. Not even sounded weird, but _looked_ weird when I pictured us throwing back a couple of beers with Sam, Sharon and Tony, fire crackling, music playing loud.  No guns in sight.  Absolutely care-free.  

“Director Fury… _Nick_ ,” I said before he could leave. Not used to be addressed by his first name, Fury swept around and looked down at me, intrigued.  Now was the time to ask. With the director of S.H.I.E.L.D.  “Bucky…”

Fury sighed and moved away from the door. “Of course.  Your army friend.  What do you want to know?”

I scoffed.  “Everything.”

“It’s complicated, Captain,” he said with this sort of humorous, very twisted voice.  I narrowed my eyes.  “But I suppose that you have the right to know what happened with your friend.”

“You’re damn right I do,” I muttered.

Fury pursed his lips.  “I found your friend — _S.H.I.E.L.D._ found your friend by that cliff. Barely alive but not dead yet.  We nurtured him back to health.  It took a lot of effort — he was pretty badly beat up, but I guess a huge fall like that would do that to a person.  Had to amputate his arm off, give him some significant blood transplants, some intense surgery but he lived…”  Fury was saying words that I should understand but the sentences he was uttering made absolutely no sense at all. “He had no idea who he was.  Severe head trauma from the fall.  All he remembered was the damn name ‘Bucky’ and that was it.  I was going to release him back to the army but then I realized that there was an opportunity presented to S.H.I.E.L.D.  We had a perfectly good soldier in our hands.  No ties to the outside world.  And thus, the image of the Winter Soldier was born.”

I felt like my blood was boiling.  I had never felt such intense hatred toward another person than I had in that instant, toward _my boss_ no less.  I already knew Fury was a sly, secretive person but I’d never think that he would use someone the way that he was using Bucky.  “No ties to the outside world?”  I repeated.  “He had no ties to the outside world because you didn’t let him figure out who the hell he was!  He — he had a family.  A sister.  A mother.  A goddamn friend who needed him…”

“Bucky already assumed the identity of the Winter Soldier for at least a year before he started to remember his life,” Fury said. “Your friend was in too deep by then.”

“What made Hydra want him?” Natasha asked.  I was glad she was probing Fury for questions.  My mind was whirling and I was focusing too much on trying to keep myself from punching Fury to be able to ask questions.  

“When he shot you,” Fury said.

Natasha scoffed.  “Of course.”

“He was our insider,” Fury finally said after a long pause.  “You remember our insider?  Told you about him a couple of times.”

My head dropped as I tried to remember, and the second Fury brought up an insider, everything came back to me.  The day Fury told Nat and I there was someone in Hydra working for Fury, and how absolutely infuriated I felt when Fury didn’t tell us his identity.  I never thought about the insider. There was no reason for me to.  I had no idea who this person was, nor did Fury update me about how effective and helpful this insider was.  Natasha and I were never given the option to use an insider, either. My face was burning up and, glancing at my reflection in the metal table beside my hospital bed, I could tell I was fuming. “Why the fuck didn’t you do something, then?  How could you just let—… You could have stopped Rumlow from…”  I couldn’t say the words.  I could barely think it right now.  “God, I could kill…”

“I don’t think you quite understand exactly how delicate the situation was for Sergeant Barnes,” Fury said, matching my tone of voice.

“Of course not,” I snapped, “but I would have if you had fully informed the two most imperative agents in this Hydra operation! We could have helped, Fury.  If Nat and I had known, things would have been a lot different and things would have gone a lot smoother!”

“You need to remember that you are not in charge of your missions,” Fury said.

“Oh really?  Because I was under the impression—”

There was a knock at the door.  Fury, Nat and I turned to see a very small, African American woman dressed in a doctor’s coat and green scrubs by the doorway, glaring at the three of us.  She tucked her clipboard in between her arms.  “Excuse me, but this is a hospital and you are screaming so loudly that the people down the hall can hear you,” she said, irately.  “Please, quiet down otherwise I’ll ask for everyone to leave the patient alone.”  She sent one last awful glare at the three of us and then closed the door behind her.

When the door was shut and the footsteps from the angry doctor faded in the background, Fury looked back at me, “Of course I know that there are hundreds of different ways for us to have used Sergeant Barnes more effectively, but it wasn’t like we could communicate constantly, and it wasn’t like Bucky could just go around stealing information at any given whim.  Mr. Zola was working under our noses far longer than your friend was, Steve.  And you never saw him doing _anything_ rash and that was for a goddamn reason.  I’m sorry if this wasn’t the reunion you expected to have with your friend, but I think you’re forgetting the fact that we pulled your friend off the ground and we kept him alive when you and the army left him for dead.”

“ _Left him for dead?!”_  I yelled.  I was kicking the sheets out of the bed now, trying to get free from the IVs but Natasha, eyes wide, pushed me back into my place. “ _Left him for dead?!_  He’s my best goddamn friend.  And the train crashed.  I was knocked unconscious!  I didn’t lead the search-and-rescue op, either, otherwise… otherwise I wouldn’t have stopped until I found Bucky, or at least found his body…”

I trailed off, eyes filling with tears as I thought about my best friend.  I never really thought about Bucky living past the fall… I just assumed that he died mid-fall from a heart attack or fear or something, or he died on impact immediately.  I never stopped to think about Bucky crashing first and then slowly succumbing to his wounds. _He didn't die_ , and that made it even worse. What if Bucky was still awake for a couple of minutes, lying on the ground, broken, in sheer agony, the worst form of inescapable torture?  I wondered if he thought about the team.  Or his sister.  Or his mother.  Or his at-the-time girlfriend.  Or me… He was all alone, wondering who his real family was and what his home was like.  I could only imagine how much worse it got when he _did_ start to remember his real identity, and how trapped he must have felt when he knew deep down that he couldn’t abandon Hydra to find his family.  It burned in my heart, made me sick, made me want to weep so badly for my best friend, for all the sacrifice and all the torture he must have endured.

I looked up at Fury, thinking about when he first recruited me.  Thinking about how confused and torn I was between joining S.H.I.E.L.D. or trying to move on past the guns and war.  I was so focused on making a decision and figuring out how to get over Peggy and Bucky that I never stopped to ask a crucial question.  One that floated to the surface after five years of espionage. “How did you know about me, Nick?” I whispered.  

“What do you mean?”  He asked.

“When you recruited me after Peggy died, you knew who I was, you knew what happened on the train in Afghanistan, and you knew about Bucky… _How?”_ I demanded.

Nick sighed.  “Because Sergeant Barnes was starting to remember his family around the same time I recruited you.  Your friend led me to you, Steve.”

“You…” My head was spinning.  I felt so stupid not asking this question earlier, not digging into Fury’s secrets like Tony probably would’ve have done.  I was so goddamn trusting, and Fury took advantage of that.  “You knew that Bucky was alive all this time, even when you knew it was tearing me about from the inside, even when you knew I needed my best friend with me when I was trying to get over — get over Peggy? _You knew?!”_

“Yes…” Fury whispered.  

“And Bucky — did Bucky know?  Did he know about me?”  I asked.  I was trying to keep myself from yelling again but I was shaking from anger.

“No.  I didn’t want him distracted,” Fury answered, evenly.  

I waited for an apology — it was the least I deserved after everything Fury willingly put me through and after all the lies and deceit. Natasha didn’t know a single thing about Bucky until just a couple days ago and Sam never knew the full story about Peggy’s death.  No one besides Nick Fury understood how goddamn _awful_ these past five years have been and yet, instead of sending Bucky back to his home the minute Bucky started remembering, Fury thought it would be a good idea to recruit me, to give me a gun again and put me back onto the field.  He _let_ me suffer and _let_ Bucky suffer just the same.  I was over it.  I was over the lies and hidden identities and the gun fights.  It was worse not having the real family that I wanted to have.  And I was over killing people.  I was _done_ with S.H.I.E.L.D.  

“Natasha,” I said.  I looked over at the ground where my belongings were piled into a small bag.  “Could you hand me my things?”

“Uh, sure,” she said, and did as I asked.

I rummaged through the contents, finding exactly what I wanted.  I took out my gun, a Colt M1911.  A gift from Nat on one of our lonely Christmases together while — _guess what_ — on a mission.  This little weapon saved my life and Natasha’s life countless times.  And then the badge… I ran my fingers over the ‘S.H.I.E.L.D.’ engraved in block letters and gazed down at the little picture of the eagle, S.H.I.E.L.D.’s crest.  I glanced at my picture, this embarrassingly bad photo of me after a long flight and no shower and messed up hair.  Another thing Natasha joked about.  Sure, I would never regret the decision to join S.H.I.E.L.D.; it really did help me in a time that I needed it when I thought I had no family and no direction, and it gave me Natasha.  Gave me someone that I really loved.  But still, I couldn’t stomach the idea of working with S.H.I.E.L.D. any longer, not after this, not after _Bucky_.

“This is yours,” I said, handing Fury the badge and the gun.  Natasha, who was leaning against the wall, straightened up and took a step closer to me.  “Guess that two month suspension isn’t worth anything, now.”

Fury looked down at the badge in his hands.  “Are you sure you’re doing the right thing?”

I nodded.  “Yeah.”

Fury glanced at Natasha, who just shrugged.  “Okay,” Fury said, quietly.  “This is your decision then, Captain Rogers.”

“It’s just Steve,” I muttered.  “No Captain America.  No Agent Rogers.  Just _Steve_.”

“Okay, _Steve_ ,” Fury said.  He stowed the badge.  “I’ll keep this with me but,” —he set the gun back onto the metal tray beside my bed—, “I’m pretty sure _this_ was a gift.”  He gave Natasha and me a curt nod and then walked out of the door.  As he did, as I said goodbye to S.H.I.E.L.D. forever, it felt the weight of the world was being lifted from my chest.

There was a long pause where neither Natasha nor I said anything.  Then, Nat took a step away from the wall and collapsed in the seat beside me.  “Wow,” she said.  “You — you really did it.  You really quit…”

I looked up at her.  “Yeah…”

I started laughing, laughing because I never had to hold another gun again (unless it was for fun), laughing because it was finally starting to hit me about much my life was dependant upon S.H.I.E.L.D. (they did, after all, pay the bills) and laughing because I could do whatever the hell I wanted to now.  And there were a slew of things that I wanted to do now that I wasn’t a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent.  Try to make it as an artist.  Learn how to cook.  Go on walks every morning in Central Park.  Get myself a family.  Try something new.  Meet new friends.  Get three dogs and two cats and a bird and finally have pets because I knew I would actually be around to take care of them.  Decorate my own apartment. Explore.  Live again.  Fall in love again, though it was starting to dawn on me that I already did that.  And, after I get myself a home and find myself a steady income, I could do all those things again.  

“Do you think you’re going to join me?” I asked.

Natasha chuckled.  “I don’t know, Steve.” There was hurt in her voice, and I hated that.  “I’m so happy for you.  Really, I am. But I’m not you, and I don’t know how ready I am to start over again.  I’m still — I’m still Black Widow, and I don’t think I’ve completely wiped my ledger clean of red.”

“You have,” I said.  “Maybe you don’t see it yet but _you have_.  Wanda is living proof of that.”

There was this bitter expression on Natasha’s face and she said quietly, “I don’t think you quite understand how much red there is, Steve…”  

“No, I don’t…” I muttered.  I wish I did know.  I understood why she didn’t want to tell me; there are parts of everyone’s past that they want to keep their past.  “But I don’t care.  I _don’t care_ what the Black Widow did.  Because you’re not the Black Widow to me.”

“But I am to _myself_ ,” Nat said, and that was final.  

I couldn’t argue with her, not when it really doesn’t matter what I think.  It was starting to hit me like a boulder crashing into a building and making it crumble to the ground… It wasn’t just my last mission.  It was my and Natasha’s last mission _together_.  Maybe the last time we would see each other.  She would probably find a new identity, a new partner and a new mission to go run around and do.  She probably won’t have the time — or want to risk seeing me again. And that just _sucked_ to think about.   _This was it…_ “So what does that mean?” I asked.

Natasha shrugged.  “I — I don’t know, Steve.”

I nodded, swallowing back tears.   _The hardest goodbye_.  “Whenever you are ready, I’ll be around.”

Natasha got up from her chair, pulled me into her arms, my head pressed against her chest and she kissed my forehead.  “If I’m ever town, I’ll be sure to give you a call…” We stayed like this for a long second and then she pulled away, sniffling.  “I’m not sure how healed you are but I know what room Bucky is in so if you want to see him…”

“Yeah, of course!” I said.

Natasha pressed the call button beside my bed and then a second later a nurse came marching inside.  She asked me a couple of questions and checked the bandages and stitching on my shoulder.  I could tell she didn’t like the idea of me getting out of bed after just recovering from surgery.  It took my pestering and Natasha’s calmly-crafted promise that I would came straight back to sleep afterwards for the nurse to finally agree to me leaving.  She helped pull out the IVs and directed me to my clothes. Natasha and the nurse left the room as I went to get dressed.  My legs were wobbling and sore and it was practically breathless by the time I finished pulling on my jeans and t-shirt.  Still very weak, Natasha forced me into a wheelchair.  It reminded me so much of when I was trying to recover from the war in Afghanistan.  Peggy was wheeling me around.  Not Peggy.  _Natasha_.

“Steve, Natasha!” yelled a voice from behind us.  We stopped in the middle of the hallway and turned around to see Sharon coming toward the two of us.  Her hair wasn’t matted with bloody anymore; she must have gone home and taken a shower. “Jesus, I was so worried about you,” Sharon said.  She helped me out of the wheelchair.  She pulled me into a bear hug and I reciprocated it.  “Have you guys talked to Fury?”

“Just finished talking with him,” I said.  “I can’t believe it, Sharon.  Hydra’s falling apart.”

Sharon smiled, “Crazy, right?  I never thought this day was going to come.  And Nat gave me the 4-1-1 about you.  You turned in your badge, huh?” My face hardened, and I opened my mouth to answer but I had no idea what to say.  “I don’t need an explanation, Steve.  Stop being Captain America and just be Steve Rogers.  You’ve done your job.  Now go live your life.”

“Kind of crazy, isn’t it?” Natasha said. “Who’s going to be my partner now?”

“Wilson’s probably interested,” I quipped, nudging Natasha in the shoulder.

“I’m sure,” Natasha said.  She looked over at Sharon.  “What about you?  I bet you and I could do some damage out there.”

Sharon looked away and for a second, I saw sorrow on her face.  She looked back at the two of us.  “Fury’s having me transferred to Germany.  Arnim Zola started talking the minute we put the handcuffs on him. Apparently, Hydra’s big in Germany and there’s a lot of cleanup that needs to be done there.  I’ll be leading a task force there.  Practically the closest thing to a job promotion.”  The smile on Sharon’s face seemed like a mix of genuine excitement but also complete sadness.  Another goodbye.  I couldn’t expect all of us to stay together.  Not when we’re all S.H.I.E.L.D. agents.  Not when we’re not really a family.

“I’ll miss you, Sharon,” I said.  I pulled her into a hug, a tight one and I hated letting go.  

Sharon then pulled Natasha into a bear hug as well.  “I promise to keep in contact with you guys,” she said.  “If Fury let’s me, of course.”

I smiled.  “Even if he doesn’t, still do. When do you leave?”

“I’ll probably wait until Wanda is settled in back home but not a minute later,” Sharon said, sighing.

“Oh wow…” I whispered.  I tried to picture getting up tomorrow morning when it wouldn’t be Sharon, Nat, Sam, Tony and myself looking after Wanda, anymore.  Who would be our next neighbor?  Who would tutor Wanda when no one else could? “Make sure you call us before you leave.  We’ll want to see you off.”

“Of course,” Sharon said. She leaned forward and kissed my cheek, “Hydra isn’t over but you’ve done your part.  Now let me do mine.”  She gave Natasha one last smile before turning on her heels and walking away.  I watched as Sharon rounded the corner and disappeared.

“Wow,” Natasha whispered when Sharon was gone.

“Yeah…” I muttered.  

“Come on,” Natasha whispered.

She eased me back into the wheelchair and brought me down the hall.  Natasha pointed me toward a closed door, outside of which two S.H.I.E.L.D. agents were pacing back and forth, holding semi-automatics.  When we reached the doorway, Nat helped me out of the wheelchair, my heart racing.  Nat flashed her badge, the two S.H.I.E.L.D. agents nodded at us and then opened the door.  Slowly, I stepped into the hospital room and walked inside.  He was just sitting on the edge of the bed, one-armed and looking out the window.  Bucky.  My brother.  He wasn’t even wearing one of the hospital gowns that I woke up wearing.  He was still dressed in his dark, blood-streaked Hydra uniform.  It was so wrong.  It wasn’t Bucky, but it surely wasn’t the Winter Soldier, either.  As I took a step closer to Bucky, he shifted in the hospital bed and turned to look at me.  His face looked awful, so bruised with stitches and scars running across his face.  His eyes weren’t right, either.  Not care-free and bold, but weary, _guilty_.

“Stevie?” Bucky whispered.  Tears were in his eyes.

I stared at my best friend.  “You — you were dead, man…” I whispered.  I was the brink of crying.  “I saw you fall off that train… for me, Bucky.”

“You’re my Cap.  _My Captain America._ Wasn’t going to let anyone hurt you,” Bucky said.  I was by Bucky’s side now, still looking at him in disbelief.  Up close, I could see this pink scar running from his jaw and down his neck.  And then I was hugging him.  Pretty awkward hug given his one-armed state.  But, _jesus christ,_ I missed him.  Bucky was gripping me with his real arm, leaning his head down.  I could hear him crying, and Bucky never cried.  Now, however, he was practically sobbing into my arms, letting out all the pain that comes from years of torture and stress and sacrificing his moral conscience for Hydra — I guess _S.H.I.E.L.D_.  “I’m sorry, Stevie.  I didn’t mean…” he barely managed through a strangled sob.  “I killed…”

“Doesn’t matter,” I muttered.  

Sort of true.  It should matter more to me what Bucky did as the Winter Soldier, because he assassinated foreign dignitaries, killed innocent people because the Red Skull wanted him to.  He would forever have that Hydra brand burned in his memory and those list of deaths would always be on him.  But he was Bucky.  _He was my Bucky._ He almost died back in Afghanistan for me. His stupid ol’ friend who let himself be distracted enough for a Taliban to get the upperhand.  Bucky sacrificed a lot of himself to try to help others by bringing down Hydra.  He gave up his safety, let himself be nearly killed by Rumlow in order to save Wanda and Peter.  Did what he could to balance out all the awful things he did, as though it would actually help his conscience.  It wouldn’t.  I knew Bucky well enough to know that matter how many good things he did after this, he would never forget the people he killed.   _It should matter that he was a Hydra agent_.  But it really didn’t.  He was still my friend, and I don’t think I'd ever be able to forget our past.

“How’d this happen?” I asked, pulling away from Bucky.  “Fury said a S.H.I.E.L.D. special ops found your body, and he offered you a job.”

“Something like that,” Bucky muttered.  “I don’t remember a lot — I still don’t remember a lot.  I remember falling off that train, whipping through the air.  Some awful fucking pain, the worst that you could ever imagine, and then waking up in the middle of this little base.  No lights and just a couple of people walking around.  I had no arm.  Just one big hole and… I had no idea what happened. I was in a coma for two months — I didn’t know who I was, Steve. Once I was fully healed, Fury didn’t spare a second to recruit me.  He told me about S.H.I.E.L.D. and Hydra, how this opportunity was everything he needed to take down an international mob.”

“And you agreed to it just like that?” I said, shocked.

“It’s not like that, Steve.  All I could remember was my name _Bucky_.  That I had been in the army and I fell,” Bucky said, and my heart ached with the thought of my best friend sitting in that S.H.I.E.L.D. institution, all alone.  “I don’t know what Fury told you about me or how Hydra recruited me but…”

“Fury told me enough,” I said.  “ _Now_.  The bastard kept everything from me.  Used you to put me into a S.H.I.E.L.D. uniform.”

“Really?  Nick Fury… with a _secret agenda_?  You don’t say,” Bucky muttered.

I shrugged.  “I got out of it, Buck.”

“Got out of what?”

“S.H.I.E.L.D.,” I said.  That feeling of weightlessness, that rush of excitement and rush of anxiety as I thought about the future came back to me.

Bucky let out a heavy sigh.  “Wow.  That’s a big move, pal.”

“It’s time I grew up a little,” I said.  “There’s always a place open for you.  If you shine my shoes, of course.”

Bucky smiled but then that levity slipped from his face.  “You were one of the first faces I remembered.  Besides my Ma.  At first I just saw your face.  This smile and this really gawky kid to go with it.  Our memories came back shortly after.  You being my wingman at all those high school parties and me trying to get you to score but you were too scared to talk to any girl. And then I started remembering our army days.  The Howling Commandos… I saw you leading us into fights and I remember thinking to myself — wasn’t like I could share this with Hydra — ‘ _this was a friend of mine… a decorated American hero._ ’”

I sighed.  “Bucky, I’m not Captain America. I’ve killed too many—…”

“Shut up, man.  I don’t wanna hear it,” he said.  He wasn’t messing with me, wasn’t joking around.  He was being completely serious.  “Really.  Being the Winter Soldier meant that I had to do some nasty stuff. And it made me sick with myself.  But I never wanted to give up, not when I knew my best friend was _Captain America_.  You made me keep going Steve.  Your symbol. I believe in you, Steve.  I believe in Captain America.  All that hooey about symbol of liberty, Fighting American, — even someone like me could fall for it… I guess ‘cause we need a Captain America. _I_ needed a Captain America.  You convinced me that I was going to do something right, that eventually I would balance the scale between all the goddamn awful things I’ve done as the Winter Soldier and how much I could help once Hydra was done for.  I was kidding myself back then.  Captain America wouldn’t do what I had to do.  I’ll never balance the scale… I probably won’t.  I’ve got too much blood on my  hands…”

“Bucky, you got rid of Hydra.  You saved Wanda…”

“That kid?” Bucky asked.  “I’ve been hunting her for a while.  I knew where she was the entire time — Fury told me.  I kept the Kill Squad away… But I had no idea about Arnim Zola.  I had no idea he worked with S.H.I.E.L.D.  Once the kill squad was ordered to go to Manhattan, there wasn’t a lot I could do.  I tried warning Fury but that bastard Rumlow didn’t trust me.  Never let me out of his sight.  Never had the chance to, Steve.”

“It’s okay, Buck,” I said.  “Wanda and Peter are out.  You’re out.  The Red Skull is done for.”

“You got the coordinates, though, right? From the mask?” Bucky asked.  "I didn't know if you were going to find it but..."

I nodded.  “Yeah, yeah we did, Buck.  And we never would have been able to find Wanda and Peter without you.  You did good, Buck.  You did good.”  I meant it. Bucky had no control over what happened, and I wasn’t about to hold _any_ of that against him.  He was my best friend.  

“Where’s your partner?”  Bucky asked. “The red head?”

“Why? Don’t tell me your—…”

Bucky laughed.  “Relax, Cap.  I’m not interested in your partner… but I remember her face.  I remember shooting her on that cliff.  I should apologize, shouldn’t I?”

“That can be dealt with later, Buck,” I said. “Nat’s hopefully gonna stick around a little bit.  Did Fury talk to you about your future?”

I was surprised with how calm I was, but I suppose this wasn’t the time to be freaking out.  

Bucky nodded.  “Briefly. Fury told me I've done my part well.  He’d spring for another arm, too,” Bucky said, gesturing toward the open socket.  “As much as I hate Hydra, I have to admit they did a helluva job creating a pretty strong metal arm… Nice and mobile, too.  Oh well.  Don’t want that Hydra-tainted arm anyway.”

“I have a friend who builds things,” I said. “Tony Stark?  You remember his dad?”

“Howard Stark?  Yeah,” Bucky said.  “How could I forget meeting someone who’s richer than the president?  And, more importantly, how could I forget Tony Stark when I shot him?  Er — sorry about that, too.”

“You didn’t kill me, Buck,” I said.  “Anyway, Tony’s a good friend.  He’ll make you an arm. Probably a nicer one too.”

“Okay, cool…” Bucky muttered, glancing at the empty space where his metal arm used to be.  “As I was saying, Fury told me I’ve done enough and if I wanted an out from S.H.I.E.L.D., now would be the chance.  He also said there’s plenty of money coming our way for our service.”

I chuckled.  “And if you don’t want that out?”

“He’d find me a partner, but, uh, I don’t think I’m quite ready for that,” Bucky said. “So, I guess I can do whatever.  You and me both pal…”  He put his one arm around my shoulders and sighed.  “Er… Steve, do you think I could stay with you and Peggy for a while?  At least until I get back on my own feet…  How does that work, anyway? Having a wife while you’re a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent?”  

My face fell.  Bucky didn’t know… “Hey, Buck, there’s something I gotta tell you about Peggy.”  I felt the words stop at the back of my throat before I could ever say them.   _Just spit it out_.  “After I got discharged from the army, Peggy started to have some medical issues and, uh, she’s gone, Buck.  Kidney cancer.”  It hurt saying those words out loud, it always would, but not like I expected, not like it used to hurt at the very least.  It didn’t feel like I was losing her all over again like it did every time I thought about Peggy.  It was just words.  The past, a past that I’d never forget, but the past no less.  It was okay. Acceptance.  “She died a year after I thought you did.”

At first, Bucky didn’t say anything.  His features twisted into this look of pain.  “Oh… Jesus man, I’m sorry.  That must’ve been shitty for you.”

“Understatement of my life,” I muttered.  

“I should’ve been there for you,” Bucky said.

“It’s okay, Buck—”

“No, it’s not!  You were there for me whenever I needed you—”

“Bucky,” I interrupted, firmly.  “Buck, it’s okay.  You’re here now, and that’s what’s important.  My best friend came back from the dead.”

Bucky didn’t laugh, and I didn’t either. “Steve, how am I going to tell my family?  They’ll hate me.  They’ll never understand—”

“They might not understand but they won’t hate you.  I don’t.  They’ll just be glad to have you back.”  I felt guilt wash over me as I thought about Rebecca and Bucky’s mom.  I didn’t keep in touch when I should have, when Bucky would have wanted me to keep in touch.

Bucky sighed.  “Fury gave me this cover story for them, too.  I was recovered when I fell but I had amnesia so I never came back to my family.  And I just started to remember my own name and my life recently so the army finally sent me back. There’s a lot holes in the story but Fury said he would take care of it.  It’s just… I don’t wanna lie to my family, Steve.  Not after lying to them for the past six years.”

“Then tell them the truth.  They’re family,” I said.

“I don’t know, Steve…” Bucky muttered. “I’m scared, man.”

“Then we’ll do it together,” I said.  

“We’re not sixteen anymore, Steve.  It’s not like you’re helping me tell Ma you and I broke her favorite vase after we were playing football in the house,” Bucky muttered.  “I can do this on my own.”

“I know you can Buck,” I said, putting my arm on his shoulder.  “It’s just, you don’t have to pal, because I’m with you to the end of the line.”


	25. Wanda Maximoff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wanda, Bucky, Steve and Peter have dinner together.

Chapter Twenty-Five: Wanda Maximoff

~ August ~

“Is this everything you need?” Bucky Barnes asked me as we walked up to another aisle in the Blick Art Materials store in New York.  He was looking utterly out of his place as we passed by the paints and the picture frames and calligraphy pens.  In his hands, one real and one a cybernetic limb (as I expected, Tony started working on making him this brand new, much stronger and much easier to work with arm the minute Bucky was out of the apartment), he was carrying a large basket full of glue sticks, paper cutters, ribbons, stickers, a new pack of sharpies and loads of vibrant-colored papers.

“Just one more thing,” I said.  

I grabbed hold a blue felt-covered scrapbook with a small insert in the center. I put it into the basket and then led Bucky to the registers.  The lady ringing us up was young and had small features but in a very pretty sort of way.  As her eyes rested on Bucky’s, her smiled stretched even wider, swirling strands of blonde hair framing her round face.  The way she asked him questions as she took her time to ring up everything, I could tell she was pretty infatuated with Bucky.  I was used to this. Bucky was attractive in that rugged, damaged puppy sort of way.  He had this goofy, uneasy smile, especially when a pretty girl would talk to him, but there was a sense of danger and rebel to him with the stubbly, short facial hair and the long hair he refused to cut, even after Steve’s constant prodding.  Months ago, when Bucky first denied rejoining S.H.I.E.L.D. and tried reintegrating into normal society, he was timid around people, ashamed as though everyone could see right through his head and seemingly know his past.  But time passed.  He met his family again and, as angry as they were at first that Bucky lied about being dead, they cried and cried with tears of joy.  His father died in the six years that Bucky was with Hydra and that set him back further but the two of us trudged forward.  Now, he was more confident with himself.  Found it easier to talk with strangers, to flirt with one of the many girls that made advances.  We left the Blick Art Materials store with two bags of scrapbooking materials and Bucky holding a small piece of paper with the sales associate's number on it.

Bucky was great, and I instantly understood why he and Steve were such great friends. We had a lot in common: guilt and nightmares and that constant feeling of uneasiness.  It took a lot for us to stop looking over our shoulder, to stop feeling like everything we did would just lead to our death.  Not to mention the fact that Bucky and I were the most invested in the Hydra trials that were coming up.  We spent a lot of time together, knew just how difficult it will be to retell our past.  He apologized nearly twice a week to Peter and me and really anyone who suffered at the hands of Hydra.  Nearly everything Bucky did was to make up for his years as the Winter Soldier. He kept saying he owed Laura a debt because of Clint’s death, no matter how often Laura insisted he didn’t need to make us home cooked meals as much as he did or babysit Nathaniel when he was sick, no matter how much I told him he didn’t need to walk me to and from school or to the grocery store.

It was about a half an hour drive back to the apartment and with Bucky speeding along in his green jaguar (the green was awful but the car itself was sweet, a gift from S.H.I.E.L.D. for all of his hard work), we shaved off a few minutes on our drive back. I was still living in the same apartment complex S.H.I.E.L.D. put me in.  We upgraded, however.  Moved up a floor to one of the bigger apartments with three bedrooms instead of two.  Laura Barton moved to Manhattan; there was less worry about enemies finding out about Laura since Clint was gone so it was okay for her to live in a busy city.  Laura wanted to start working again, become a journalist just like she planned before she married Clint. S.H.I.E.L.D. was still willing to support Laura while she needed to take care of baby Nathaniel but once everyone was a little older, she wanted to find a job.

In the apartment, Laura got the master bedroom, which she shared with little Nathaniel for the time being; I had my own room and then Cooper and Lila shared another.  Once Nathaniel was old enough, Nathaniel would move in with Cooper and Lila and I would share a room.  Sure, it was a little crowded but it wasn’t a permanent situation.  I was going into my senior year and afterwards, my next big plan was college.

You see, I made this list.  Kind of like a bucket list of everything I wanted to do now that I had my life back. Get a job.  Make some friends.  Have a dinner party.  And, the most ambitious goal: go to a four year university.  It didn’t have to be MIT or some big Ivy league school, but I wanted to graduate on time and I wanted to keep learning.  It was an ambitious goal but I had enough education to have a solid foundation.  My concussion from the Red Skull wasn’t too severe but I couldn’t go to school until late January, early February.  It took some time to get myself back on track my junior year but I got there, eventually. As for all the other credits I missed: I took plenty of night classes, online courses and worked hard this summer to get myself enough credit to be in a good place going into my senior year.  I would have to take a few freshman and sophomore classes during my senior year.  It was beyond challenging but I used some of that $500,000 S.H.I.E.L.D. gave me to help pay for tutors and for college counselors who helped come up with a list of colleges that would be a best fit for me.  Peter was helpful, as always.  He helped with my ACT and SATs and was probably more excited than me when I got my ACT score of a 31. His injuries were minor but he came back to school the same time I did.  It was easier that way.  Together, we could brave the crowds and the stares.  Together, we could brave the questions.

As much as my teachers and the other students tried to hide it, I could tell they saw Peter and me differently.  At first, no one knew the full story, no one except for Peter, Michelle, Ned and me; students and teachers only noticed that my eyes were blue — I got tired of wearing contacts everyday.  When my friends and I didn’t leak the story, people started to guess. Some pretty funny ones: kidnapped by some of Tony Stark’s enemies until he agreed to give up his blueprints for weapons and the Quinjet; we went off to the roof to fool around and then we fell off (that was more bizarre); my parents were in a gambling debt and we were taken as a collateral until they returned the money. The four of us couldn’t tell the truth so we just sat there and laughed about how one-off the stories were.

At first, S.H.I.E.L.D. kept Hydra’s falling under wraps, at least until most of Hydra’s agents were in custody.  With the binder full of Hydra buyers and sellers and the files of every Hydra agents faces, all S.H.I.E.L.D. had to do was check off faces.  It took until mid-February for the majority of Hydra’s agents to be out of the picture.  At that point, S.H.I.E.L.D. was ready to go to the media, and the story about Hydra’s falling was on every newspaper and every news channel in New York for what felt like all of February.  My photo wasn’t released and neither was my name but the story about the ‘brave girl posing as a schoolgirl from Manhattan’ was everywhere.  And people at Manhattan Academy weren’t stupid.  No one knew the full story.  Just bits and pieces.

Fury still kept me involved in the criminal processing of Hydra agents.  So was Peter. And Tony.  And Steve, Nat, Sharon, Sam and Bucky.  Once I was fully recovered from my concussion, Tony and Steve drove Peter, Aunt May and me up to the S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters in upstate New York.  Another S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, Phil Coulson, was in charge of taking our sworn statements that would be released to the prosecuting and defense attorneys.  He also assisted us with the identification of Hydra agents. Whenever Sharon got a new influx of Hydra agents and buyers, Bucky and I and my former handlers would be expected to go back to headquarters and identify the ones we could.  Tell stories about them when they weren’t willing to talk.  Facing Rumlow was the hardest.  While some Hydra agents gave themselves up, not for less sentences since most of them were going away for life but better living conditions, Rumlow wasn’t one of them.  Didn’t matter.  My, Peter’s and Bucky’s testimonies coupled with the loads of files marking all of his kills was enough.  It was mortifying to relive what Rumlow did but I had to.  To make me more comfortable, I just talked to Nat.  I knew all my handlers and Phil Coulson and Director Fury were listening in behind the one-way mirrors but that was okay.  I had to do it…

Nat, Sam and Steve stuck around with me for a while, at least until most of the Hydra agents who knew about me were arrested. Once Fury was confident that the agents who threatened my life were all gone, he lifted my protection detail.  Tony’s life was in Manhattan and, now that Steve was no longer a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, he could live wherever he wanted.  New York was home and he didn’t want to leave me, not yet at least.  Bucky thought about moving in with his family and for a couple of months, he did.  But he was over at Steve’s house so often, whether they were still dealing with Hydra’s fall outs or they wanted to watch a football game or they just wanted to talk, that eventually Bucky left his mom’s house. By mid-May, he was completely moved into my old apartment.  He took my old room. Sam wasn’t that interested in being an active S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, either.  He went back to his old job at the Washington D.C. VA Medical Center where he ran group sessions for recovering vets.  I missed Sam. I missed him at Manhattan Academy where I could always count on him being around whenever there was trouble, and I missed the little therapy sessions we had in the car. Nat was on the fence about staying a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent.  She looked like she was ready to give up her badge but I also knew that she had no idea who she was without it.  She took a sabbatical sometime in April. Went to Russia, apparently, to find her old roots.  She promised she would come back to visit, but she also promised that she wouldn’t be able to stick around for long.  Nat needed to be on her.  Do some reflection.  I understood that.

My life was changing drastically.  For the better.

“Do you have everything you need for the party?” Bucky asked.  

The party.  It was Tony’s idea, and Peter’s. Both said multiple times that if I wasn’t ready for this big of an event, they’d understand.  But I wanted this.  Right before school started, Tony agreed to let Peter and me use his penthouse home to throw a huge end of summer celebration. But it wasn’t just for the end of summer celebration.  It was for the end of an era, really, and the beginning of a whole new one.  A fresh start.  The chance to live my life _finally_.

“Yeah,” I said.  “Just have to get the food.”

“That’s a big step for you.  You sure you’re ready for that?” He asked.  He wasn’t being judgemental.  It was just him checking up.

I nodded.  “I am.”  

It’s only been eight months, and that wasn’t nearly enough time to fully recover from the torture and the trauma.  But it was enough time to help.  Sam set me up with a local therapist, one of his friends from the VA.  Sue Storm, this happy, blonde-haired lady who always wore pants suits and penciled her brows darkly.  The first time I met her, Natasha and Sam took me to her office. At first, Sue didn’t probe me to talk about my feelings or really delve into the past but as the sessions went on, it was easier to talk.  Easier to relive.  She helped a lot.  Explored the darkest parts of my trauma and forced me to talk about it, embrace it.  She kept telling me _I wasn’t allowed to hide, anymore._ That I didn’t need to hide anymore.  The sessions, three times a week for an hour, helped a lot more than I expected.  I could face crowds now. I still wasn’t ready to be in a very committed relationship yet but it was okay. Everyone understood and I was getting better at being alone with Peter.  On that note, Peter was so careful with me he never even put his hand on my shoulder without asking for permission. I felt guilty.  But that guilt was okay.  Sue kept telling me that it was normal.  I believed her.  And the nightmares started to stop as the months passed.  When they happened, Sue told me to write them down and then we would talk about it.  Exposure to bad memories.  An exploration of what triggers the nightmares and flashbacks.  Beside the therapy sessions, Sue introduced me to a support group with other teenagers who were exploited the same way I was.  We had weekly meetings on Saturday morning.  It was more than just a place where we all shared our stories about what happened. They helped me with my homework.  Gave me someone to call when I needed to talk. Someone who I could go shopping with now that Natasha wasn’t around.  A new family and new community.  One of the ladies knows a friend who works at that little cafe right by my apartment.  Kind of a coincidence but she hooked up with a job there.  Even though S.H.I.E.L.D. was giving me plenty of money, working was nice.   _Different_ , but nice.

Bucky pulled into the parking garage.  He swung into his parking spot, right next to Steve’s blue truck and his motorcycle wedged in between their two spots.  The car was a gift from S.H.I.E.L.D. and the motorcycle Steve bought at the same time Bucky got himself the Jaguar.  Soon, I would get my own car, whatever kind I wanted.  I passed my permit test a couple months ago and now Steve and Bucky were rotating teaching me how to drive.  Bucky helped with the two grocery bags and we walked upstairs.  He fished in his pocket for a second, pulled out the key and then let me into his and Steve’s apartment.  It didn’t change much from when Nat used to live her.  Most of the furniture was the same, except they added in the pool table from Clint’s apartment and added more beer than wine.  In addition to that, the photos S.H.I.E.L.D. faked were gone, replaced with new one, _real ones_.  A lot were of Steve and Bucky when they were kids and when they were in the army, but there were a few new ones: when they got their new cars; of Nat, just her, smiling at the camera and looking in the wrong direction; and of me, just one when Steve and Bucky took me out to dinner a couple months ago.  The scrapbooks, all the fake ones, were gone.  That’s why I was making a new one.  To document a real life.

“Incoming!” Bucky said.

He nearly tossed the bags onto the counter as a golden retriever with glistening fur came bounding into the kitchen, wagging his tail and huffing and puffing. Bucky’s little dog, Ace.  Ace moved across the wooden floor in this awkward, jaunting stagger.  It was a three-legged dog, the result of being in an abusive home for the first four years of its life.  Steve and Bucky went to the animal shelter for some volunteer work: walking homeless dogs for light exercise and therapeutic reasons. Steve was filling out some paperwork for a big donation when he found Bucky messing around this three-legged animal.  After lots of near-begging and the dog not being the only one to use the puppy-dog eyes, Steve eventually gave in.  Bucky loved the dog like I’ve never seen anyone love an animal before.  Every time Bucky saw Ace, his eyes lit up.  Tony was even building a prosthetic leg for the dog.  

“Hey pal!” Bucky said.  “You wanna a treat?”  Bucky pulled open the top drawer by the sink and put a little milk bone on the ground.  Ace snatched it up.  “You hungry?”

“Yeah,” I said.  

Bucky started rummaging through the fridge.  Now that Bucky was living with Steve, there was better food in the house. He poured two cups of Coke and then set out a bowl of chips and guacamole on the table.  I pulled a stack of photos out of my purse, binded together with a rubber band and set them on the table as well.  I wasn't as artistic as whichever S.H.I.E.L.D. agent made the forged scrapbook so I started with the basics.  Put the photos into chronological order.  That was easy enough and I was pretty good at putting that together.  I was glad Peter was in the yearbook and was snapping photos, even if I didn’t notice.  Photos from the football games.  Whenever we went out to lunch. When we were in Florida.  The dance. Some from prom: Michelle and I got dresses from a little boutique in Queens. My dress was red and bold and I felt beautiful.  We rented a limo, stayed up all night, watched movies, talked.  There was another group of photos, one for my eighteenth birthday.  My first real birthday celebration beyond Pietro stealing a cupcake.  We went out to dinner at this Italian restaurant, Trattoria Trecolori. Everyone I loved was there, dressed up in ties and gorgeous dresses. Nat, Sam and Sharon came back for it, brought loads of presents, took lots of pictures and made me feel special, _loved_ , even though I already knew I was.  Michelle, Ned, May and Peter were also invited, of course.  The Bartons, as well. On top of that, Tony surprised all of us with a trip to Disneyworld.  Private plane, five-star hotels, fast passes. Laughing and joy and time together. I never even thought about Rumlow or Hydra.

On top of that trip, Nat helped me redecorate my room exactly the way I wanted it.  It was small but we made look as spacious as possible.  Dark gray walls; a yellowish, fuzzy rug; purple down comforter and gray pillows.  Christmas lights wrapped around the top of the bedroom.  Weird paintings and sculptures we picked up from antique stores hung above the walls.  In one corner was a small music stand and a guitar.  I always wanted to learn how to play and now I had the _time_.  Steve walked me to and from lessons and with every awkward stroke, I felt myself getting better.

“So, how does this work?  How does art work?” Bucky asked.

“We just put paper down, I guess,” I muttered.  We messed around for a little bit: laid out blocks of red and black paper, put a few pictures down, rearranged the spread again and again.  “Where’s Steve?” I asked as I labeled the front of the scrapbook _2015/2016._

“At some job interview,” Bucky said.  Steve was a freelance artist now and his career was starting to take off.  “The interview was supposed to be for some big comic book place, Marvel.  Never heard of it.  But apparently if Steve gets the job, he’ll have free reign to make a comic line of whatever he wants.  He’ll probably make them about himself.  Captain America and his sidekick Bucky take over the world!”

I laughed.  Bucky wasn’t working, not yet at least.  He had a few interests: he was fluent in Russian, German and French, a result from his Hydra training, and thought about being a language teacher.  But before he commits to a job, Bucky wanted to make sure he was completely together, and he also wanted something close by so that he could live with Steve.  There _was_ a sort of dependency they had for each other, a dependency that comes from years of friendship and an understanding that Bucky was struggling with PTSD or guilt or really anything, Steve was a good source of a comfort.

“Do you think he’ll get it?” I asked

“Hope so.  He needs a hobby,” Bucky muttered.  He was picking up some of the ribbons and twirling it around in his metal fingers.  “What are you doing for dinner?  I was going to make this pot pie.  You interested?”

“Can I bring Peter?” I asked.

Bucky grinned.  “Yeah, but I don’t know if I’m gonna be able to feed that many people.  You down to help?”

I smiled.  “I’m a better cook than you anyway.”

We laughed.  I pulled out my cell phone and sent Peter a text: << _Dinner tonight at my place?  6?  Buck and I are making chicken pot pie >> _

A moment later and Peter replied back with a < _< yeah! Metal Arm is great at cooking>>.  _The nickname kind of stuck and Peter never really called Bucky anything else.  Peter adjusted well to Bucky after everything that happened, and I only figured it was because Buck took care of Peter as much as he could without giving away his identity.  May had a harder time getting used to the idea of being around of a former Hydra agent, even one that was undercover for S.H.I.E.L.D.

“Did Peter say he could come?” Bucky asked.

“Yeah,” I nodded.

“Great.  Steve is supposed to be home in a couple of hours.  I’ll tell him to go to the store after his job interview,” Bucky said.

He sent a quick text and then we went back to going to our work.  Bucky put on some old ‘90s music, which blared in the background, as we worked.  I got through a couple more pages in the scrapbook with Bucky getting distracted easily whenever Ace came around, barking and jumping up and down eagerly.  When Steve came home, he was dressed in a nice checkered shirt and matching jacket and pants, a lot more formal than I was used to.  Now that he was out of S.H.I.E.L.D., his appearance was a lot more — _scruffy._  His hair was still trimmed but he was growing out a beard and moustache.  It made him older, more responsible, more like a New York dad too. In his hands were two bags of groceries that he sat on the counter.  The moment Steve walked inside, Ace bounded toward him and Steve took the little dog in his arms.

“Nice suit,” Bucky muttered.

“Better than looking like an ape like you always do,” Steve quipped back.  “Hey, Wanda.”

“Says the guy with that beard,” Bucky said.

While I had the option to start going by Scarlet Lungu again, I decided against it. Changed my name formally to Wanda Scarlet Maximoff; I figured I should at least keep part of my original name for old times sakes.  On top of that, Fury already got me a visa and made sure that I was allowed in the US while S.H.I.E.L.D. and I worked on getting my green card.  It was supposed to take a while and it was a grueling process but it was worth it.  This was my home now.  Not being a US citizen created plenty of roadblocks but they were something I could get past.

“Hey, Steve,” I said.  I started gathering up the scrapbooking supplies and putting it away.  “How was your interview?”

“Good,” Steve said, grinning.  “I’m supposed to hear back by the end of the week but I’m feeling pretty good at this one.”

“Alright!” Bucky said, excitedly.

He got up from the table and patted Steve on the back.  The two of them started putting away groceries and I got up to help. It was already five o’clock and time to start prepping for dinner.  Steve started to clean up the kitchen and the dining room while Bucky and I worked on cooking.  We didn’t bother making homemade pie crusts — not enough time and not enough talent.  Bucky laid out thin, store-bought pie crusts onto two glass pie pans while I chopped and cooked the onions.  When Bucky was finished, he came to help me with the insides of the chicken pot pie.  I mixed the broth and milk while Bucky cut the chicken and vegetables.  Once the insides were all finished, we stuffed the pot pie, laid another piece of pie crust on top and then cut slits in it.  I put it in the oven and set the timer. As the chicken pot pie cooked, Bucky worked on making a salad.  The entire time Steve was wiping down the kitchen table and sweeping the floor, he was gushing about his ideas for comic books (Bucky was spot on about making the comics about their adventures) and the music was still blaring loudly.  It was noisy and a little chaotic but homey.  It reminded me of when my mother would cook and Pietro would be running around the kitchen playing catch with my dad, even though my mother hated it when they played indoors.

It was 5:45 and I hurriedly rushed to the other apartment to get dressed.  Laura was taking Nathaniel, Lila and Cooper out to dinner so I was alone.  I changed quickly into a fresh pair of jeans, a black t-shirt and threw my hair into a braid.  When I came back to Bucky and Steve’s apartment, I saw that Peter just arrived in worn out jeans and a nice checkered short-sleeve shirt.  He was holding a bottle of wine and some flowers in his hand.  “I’m not here to drink,” he said; I could tell Bucky and Steve were looking down at Peter, skeptically.  “Aunt May just thought I should bring you guys something.  And — and I have this for you!” Peter gave me the flowers.

He was still as gracious and kind as ever. “Thanks,” I said as I put the flowers into a vase.  

Peter gave me this warm, caring smile, the kind that promised he would keep waiting. Peter was recovering better than I expected after what happened.  May insisted he do some therapy for a little bit but he was finished by the end of March. He didn’t have nightmares, at least not to my knowledge, and he still had Steve and Bucky, who were constantly reminding Peter that he could talk to them if he needed to. We only talked about what happened with Rumlow once.  Peter was glad to be talking about it, glad to know that I was _ready_ to talk about it with him but Peter was so obviously uncomfortable with the conversation.  I was, too, but I also figured it was a conversation we needed to have. And then it slipped out what I did in Sokovia, and that was another curve ball Peter didn’t expect.  That took a longer time for Peter to process but he kept telling me it didn’t matter.  He kept promising me that it only mattered that I was okay with the past.  The way he acted after that conversation only reassured that promise.

“It smells really good,” Peter said.

“Wanda’s a great cook,” Bucky said as he put the wine bottle into the alcohol cabinet.

Peter helped set the table.  We started off with eating salad and some of the toasted French bread with olive oil.  Steve and Bucky got themselves two chilled beers while I poured Peter and me some Coke. When the pot pie was finished, Peter got up before any of us, already knowing where the oven mitts were and took the food out. Steve took over for Peter, who fumbled around trying to find the pie cutter, and told Peter to go sit down.  Steve dished out the pot pie, which smelled delicious and tasted even more fantastic.

“Are you excited for senior year?” Steve asked.

“Yeah!”  Peter exclaimed. “I'm excited for Calculus and for not having to take PE or health next year!  And to start applying for college, of course!”  Everything Peter just said, I felt the exact opposite.  Calculus and college applications were daunting, and I had to take both two semesters worth of health, as well as PE.  

“Ugh, math,” Bucky muttered

“What colleges are you looking at?” Steve asked.

Peter shrugged.  “There’s a few.  MIT is on the top of my list.  New York University, Columbia University, Empire State University.”

Steve’s eyebrows raised.  “Geez.  Those are pretty tough schools to get into.”

“I like my chances,” Peter muttered, to which Steve and Bucky laughed.  “I didn’t mean for that to sound so conceited — I mean, I feel like I could get into those schools but… anyway, I’ve already starting working on the application process.  These schools aren’t exactly cheap but you know… S.H.I.E.L.D. is probably going to be paying for most it.”  Fury gave Peter a fat check like he did with me.  “I’m still shooting for a scholarship, though.  May and I could do with extra pocket money.”  

“You’ve been working on another science project, right?” I asked.  

“Yeah!  After the success last year,” —Peter got second at the science expo, the one where Rumlow showed up at, and won $7,500—, “I wanna do it again!  Hopefully, no scary ass dude shows up.”

I laughed.  “Hopefully not,” I agreed.

The four of us joked around together but while we were joking around, I noticed Bucky and Steve looking at each other every now and then.  A few moments later, Bucky cleared his throat and said, “Before you two run off, we wanted to talk to you about the trial coming up.”

Right.  I managed to go a couple hours without thinking about the trial date coming up.  Nick Fury warned me that I would have to testify in court in front of a vast jury with wide, curious eyes and in front of spectators listening to the story of a teenager who survived against an international, crazed mobster.  Normally it would take a long time for a criminal case to go to court but S.H.I.E.L.D. pulled some strings — _lots of strings_ — to get our case pushed through as fast as possible.  According to Nick, the faster we get these men incarcerated, the safer the world would be.  Finalizing paperwork, putting witness statements together, prepping the jury was ready as quickly as possible.  Now, the trial date was looming over us.  Just a couple weeks before we would go court to in D.C.  I was still nervous as hell about telling parts of my life I was so used to keeping private in front of strangers but I knew I could do it. It wasn’t about being scared or ashamed of the past.  It was about learning from the past, embracing it and building myself up. At the very least, everyone I loved and everyone I cared about would be there with me.  S.H.I.E.L.D. was willing to spring for first class tickets but Tony, _being Tony_ , insisted on taking his own private plane down to D.C.  Peter was expected to testify but didn’t need to come until a few days after Steve, Bucky, Tony and me.  He was, however, elated at the thought of being in Tony’s private plane again so he and May were flying out early.  Laura was going to fly out with me as well (she wasn’t bringing the kids so Pepper offered to babysit for a couple of days).  We were going to meet Sam, Nat and Sharon at the hotel.  Peter wasn’t as nervous about testifying and was extremely excited to go to D.C.

“What about it?” I asked.

“We know it’s in a couple of weeks,” Steve started, “but we just wanted to make sure that you guys are ready for what you’re about to get into.  The federal judge isn’t letting any photographers or live broadcasting but there will be some media representatives.  Don’t worry about them. Fury hand picked which ones he’s letting in.  You two, myself, Bucky and most of the other S.H.I.E.L.D. agents testifying will be granted complete anonymity.  Our names and pictures won’t show up in the media anywhere.  But I have to warn you, I’ve gone to these court trials before.  Hydra agents are known to throw curveballs, take the blame for higher-ups because for some goddamn reason, they think they’re being loyal.”

“I thought mostly everyone took a plea bargain,” Peter said.

“The DA did everything they could to convince as many Hydra agents as possible to do that — the evidence is still pretty damning.  It saves him time and money, too, but not everyone did.  Rumlow included.  A couple other higher ups did, and some of the lower level guys who don’t have as much as evidence against them did as well,” Steve clarified.  “Rumlow isn’t testifying, but I think he’s waiting for someone to cover his ass.”

“Which is dumb because there are plenty of people testifying for Rumlow’s involvement in your two’s aggravated kidnapping alone,” Bucky added.

“I wouldn’t be too worried about any Hydra agents being exonerated.  We have plenty of evidence,” Steve said.

“So then why do you guys seem so worried?” I asked

Steve sighed.  “You know how trials work, Wanda.  Every witness gets crossed examined and things are gonna get ugly. The DA is still responsible for trying to give their clients, as much of assholes as they are, a viable defense, which means they’re going to try and discredit you and your story.  They’ll twist your story and use it against you.  I just want to make sure that you guys know that.”

“The evidence speaks for itself and your story is _your story_.  Don’t let the DA intimidate you,” Bucky said. “Beside, I think I kind have it the worse.  I _was_ a Hydra agent.”

This was one of the first time we openly talking about the trial.  Bucky looked nervous as hell and Steve bore that same expression he used to have when I was still on S.H.I.E.L.D.’s protection list.  I already was aware about how ugly the trial could get, but this trial was one of the first times that I could really stand up against Hydra agents.

We ended dinner on that rather bleak note. While Bucky and I scooped out some chocolate ice cream from the freezer, Steve told Peter all about the job interview.  We joined them at the table, setting out whipped cream and chocolate and caramel sauce.  The sight and taste of chocolate ice cream made everyone take a deep breathe and we eased our way back into levity. Soon, we were laughing as Bucky and Peter quipped back and forth.  Bucky kept teasing Peter, calling him a nerd and problematic and trouble while Peter’s nickname of Metal Arm was enough to get under Bucky’s skin.  When we were finished, Steve and Bucky cleared the table and went to do the dishes.

Peter looked at me, awkwardly.  “I should get going.”

“Or we could go back to my place — say hello to Laura,” I offered.

“Uh, yeah, if you’re okay with that,” Peter said, nodding eagerly.  He got up so fast he knocked the chair he was sitting in over.  He caught hold of the chair before it clattered to the ground, grinning.  “That was badass.”

“Yeah.  You have insane refluxes,” I laughed.  “Steve, we’re gonna go back to my apartment.  

Steve looked up from doing the dishes. “You don’t have tell me, Maximoff.  I’m not your dad anymore.  You gonna be okay?”

I nodded.  “Yeah.”  And I really meant it.  My heart was still beating fast but it was okay.  I knew it was going to be okay.

Peter walked me all the way up to my new home.  I invited him aside.  That wasn’t a huge step — Peter’s been over at the apartment before and Laura and the others were back from their night out.  Laura was rocking Nathaniel back and forth looking down as Cooper and Lila played with action figures, giggling and squealing.  When Peter and I walked inside, Laura smiled, “Hey, you two!  Just in time!  Once Lila and Cooper clean up their game,” —she shot her two kids a look—, “we’re about to put on Monsters Inc. if you two are interested in joining.”

“Ah, I love that movie!”  Peter said.  He was about to go to the couch when he stopped and looked over at me, “If that’s alright.”

“Go on,” I said, laughing.  I went to Laura’s side and glanced at Nathaniel, his small little eyes and nose.  So small. _So beautiful_.  I could see Clint’s features so easily.  

“I’m gonna go give Nathaniel a bath.  Why don’t you go over there and watch the movie?” Laura offered.

“Can I help?” I asked.  

Laura looked at me with an unreadable expression on her face and then she nodded.  “Yeah, of course.  Kids, we’ll be right back.”  

“Okay,” the three of them said, Peter’s voice sticking out the clearest and we laughed.

Laura, still cradling Nathaniel, brought me into the master bathroom.  It was still small but Laura decorated it with plants and flowers and candles so it smelled and looked great.  I turned the water on for her and sat on the ledge of the tub, waiting for the water to heat up.  I took Nathaniel in my arms while Laura went to get another diaper and a fresh onesie.  Once she was back, she deemed the water the proper temperature and undressed Nathaniel.  He didn’t mind baths so when she eased him in slowly, cautiously into the tub, he just made a couple noises but didn’t object.  Laura kept hold of Nathaniel while I gently poured cups of warm water over Nathaniel.  I wasn’t comfortable taking care of a baby on my own (simply because I wasn't nearly that responsible) so Laura watched dutifully as I rinsed Nathaniel with water and lightly brushed his shoulders and back with soap. Laura helped clean him as well: we worked in tandem quietly and efficiently.  

“How’s your scrapbooking going?” Laura asked.

I smiled.  “Good.  Bucky was exactly as helpful as you would expect him to be when we were at the art store.  Probably should have gone with Steve but he was a little busy.”

“Oh right.  The job interview,” Laura said. “That’ll be good for Steve.  Getting himself out there.”  It was so strange hearing Laura talk about Steve like he was her kid as well. But maybe that’s the way it was.  Laura took care of everyone she met.  It was like she had an _obligation_ to do that.  

Nathaniel was starting to get antsy and he was struggling and kicking a little bit more in the bathtub.  I briskly rinsed him a couple more times with water and then Laura took Nathaniel out.  He was starting to cry now, not wailing miserably but just a soft whimper.  Laura dried him with a soft towel hastily.  His skin was pretty dry so Laura gently massaged lotion onto his legs and arms before putting him in another diaper and dressing him swiftly.  She pulled Nathaniel into her arms, gently rocking him back and forth again and pressing a gentle kiss on his forehead.  I followed Laura out of the bathroom and past the bedroom. She went to grab one of Nathaniel’s stuffed animals and I turned to look at Peter, Lila and Cooper.  Monster’s Inc. was playing loudly but they weren’t sitting on the couch, eyes glued to the TV.  They were still running around on the floor of the living room.  They were playing with action figures and Peter was skidding cars around the floor.  Lila and Cooper were giggling and Peter was grinning like I’ve never seen before.

“He’s a good kid,” Laura said.  She was standing behind me, watching Peter, Lila and Cooper.

I nodded.  “I know.  I mean, I haven’t scared him away yet.”

“That’s because he cares about you, Wanda,” Laura clarified, that motherly, matter-of-fact tone in her voice.  “And he knows that you just need time.”

I followed Laura into the living room.  She put Nathaniel into his infant swing and I went to sit by Peter.  He looked over at me. “Okay, important question: do you want be Optimus Prime or Jack Sparrow?”  He held up two action figures.  

I laughed.  “I’ll take Jack Sparrow.”  

I took the action figure from Peter and we played with Cooper and Lila until the movie was over.  It was a little past nine now. After some complaints, Laura insisted that Lila and Cooper start getting ready for bed. Peter and I helped Lila and Cooper clean up their toys and then we watched as Laura ushered them into their bathroom.  

It was just Peter and me left now.  Saying goodbye to Peter would be the easy thing to do.  But I also wanted to move on and, especially with the trial happening in a couple of weeks, I was ready to do that.  I trusted Peter.  He knew about what happened with Rumlow and about what happened in Sokovia, and he didn’t run.  He didn’t think less of me.  The girls at the support group said that was a good sign of a real friend, of someone I could really _trust_.

 _Don’t be afraid…_ “Do you wanna go for a walk?” I asked.  

Peter looked up at me.  “Uh, yeah. Yeah, that — that — that’ll be awesome,” he stammered.  

“Laura, we’re going to go for a walk,” I said. “We’ll be back soon.”

“Okay,” Laura said, smiling.

Peter got the door for me and held it open, gesturing for me to go out first.  We walked in silence down the couple flights of stairs and out the front door.  It was beautiful outside.  It was still warm out, and the heat felt invigorating.  Even with the trial looming over us, it didn’t matter because everything was coming together.  I took a deep breath and looked over at Peter.  He was staring at me with this crooked smile, eyes wide with amazement.

“You don’t have to do this if you aren’t ready,” Peter said.

I smiled.  “I am,” I said.

We started walking down the streets of New York.  Though the sun had already gone down, it was _Manhattan_ so I could see plenty fine.  It was still busy and crowded but it didn’t matter.  I was accustomed to it. I recognized a lot of the buildings now and some of the owners of the fine establishments in the streets of Manhattan. Peter was surprisingly quiet as we walked through the streets.  I appreciated that. This was not the same geeky, awkward teenager who collided into strangers because he clumsily rode around on his skateboard that I met when I first went to Manhattan Academy.  Don’t get me wrong. He was _still_ that geeky awkward kid that I met last August, but he was more mature now.  Grew into his lanky form.  Stronger. More confident.  And didn’t let little things bother him, like whenever Flash laughed at Peter’s shirt (Flash couldn’t stay scared of Peter and me forever, and I was glad Flash wasn't treating us too differently after what happened), or when some people would call him a nerd when Peter freaked out building the Death Star out of legos with Ned. Sometimes it got under his skin but eventually he got past it.

I reached for his hand.  My heart was racing but we were just holding hands.  And I was going to be okay with that. Peter’s lips twisted into a smile, and I smiled back.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just one more chapter after this. I was super excited to start writing happy endings for all the characters:)


	26. Wanda Maximoff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wanda, Peter and her family go to Washington D.C., ready to send the remaining men of Hydra to jail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is it. Thank you so much for reading, giving kudos, leaving comments for those who did. Knowing that there are people who really enjoyed this story always makes me smile. 
> 
> It's hard to believe that it's over after working on this story as long as I did.
> 
> As always, hope you enjoy the chapter :)

Chapter Twenty-Six: Wanda Maximoff

The date of the trial was rapidly approaching. It felt like every time I blinked, a day had passed. A few days before we were supposed to depart for the trial, May and Laura took me to the mall for a day to find some nice suits for me to wear. They decided to get a few different business suits; they had no idea how long the trial was going to take but May and Sharon both assumed I was going to have to be present in the courtroom for more than just one day. I hated having to wear that business suit — it felt old and restrictive but I also knew it was necessary for me to look professional, put together at a trial this important. When we finished, we left carrying bags full of business attire: a gray blazer and matching skirt; a pantsuit; a black pencil skirt; a few variations of blazers; several undershirts; a couple tights to wear underneath; and a couple pairs of heels. I doubted that I would ever wear these outfits again so I felt a little guilty with the huge bill we left with. Oh well. S.H.I.E.L.D. was picking up the tab, anyway. When we got back to the apartment that day, Laura wrapped the suits up in plastic and kept it hung to avoid it from wrinkling. She had her own dresses and clothes that she was going to wear in court, but not as formal as mine; she wasn’t expected to testify.

I didn’t get around to packing the rest of my clothes until the last minute. Our flight left tonight at 6:00 and it was 11:00 in the morning. “Do you want me to help you pack?” Laura offered again. She was a little bitter that I procrastinated on packing for so long.

“No, that’s okay,” I said.

“Okay,” Laura said, uneasily. “I’ll be right down the hall if you need anything.”

She gave me one last smile and then left the bedroom. I looked back at my closet, sifting through the clothes Natasha ordered for me almost a year ago. I normally don’t care much for material items but I had to admit that I was really glad I didn’t have to throw away this closet because _everything_ was so me. Steve said that we wouldn’t be in trial the entire time so I would want some clothes to wear out. It was going to be miserably hot in D.C. so I threw lots of dresses into a pile and added a couple of shorts and tank tops for good measure. I packed the suits first to make sure I fit everything in, added other necessities into the small, zip-up compartments before folding and rolling up my other clothes. A few heels, sneakers and sandals in one corner, my makeup and curling iron in the other and then I was all finished. I zipped it briskly. My carry-on bag was light since it was a short flight. I brought my computer, a couple of chargers and one of the books I needed to read to help make up for Freshman English. I didn’t think I would actually use any of this considering that Tony’s airplane was decked out with games and movies, and Peter would probably be wandering around, unintentionally becoming a very big distraction.

Hours ticked by quickly and then Steve and Bucky were waiting at the front door; yapping around, leash wrapped around Bucky’s wrist, was Ace. Though it was probably eight-five degrees outside, Bucky was still wearing a long sleeve shirt; he still wasn’t ready for people to see his metal arm. Behind them were a couple of suitcases. “You guys ready to go?” Steve asked; I could tell he had just shaved by the well-trimmed beard.

“Yeah,” I said. “Hey, Laura, Steve and Bucky are here!”

A second later Lila and Cooper came bulldozing out of their rooms, dragging along little blue suitcases. Lila and Cooper immediately went to Ace, who kept jumping up and down at the new attention. And then Laura emerged from her bedroom, dragging in her suitcase and carrying Nathaniel in one arm. I took the suitcase from Laura and she eased Nathaniel into a more comfortable position. “Thanks,” she said. “You guys ready to go hang out at Tony’s place for a little bit?”

“Can we run around his entire place?!” Lila said, excitedly.

“And talk to J.A.R.V.I.S.?!” Cooper added.

Laura laughed, “I’m sure Tony will let you do that. Bucky, can you take Nathaniel for a second? I just need to grab his stuff,” Laura said. Without even waiting for Bucky to agree, she handed Nathaniel to Bucky; he clung onto the baby nervously, looking at Steve and then me, in complete shock. Laura thought nothing of giving her child to Bucky and she went back to her bedroom quickly. Steve and I were looking at Bucky, just laughing. “What’s so funny?” Laura asked; we still hadn’t calm down.

“Bucky’s scared of children” Steve said.

Laura chuckled. She took Nathaniel back from Bucky.

“It’s — it’s the metal arm,” Bucky said, defensively. “Didn’t want to make him cold.”

“Sure, sure, pal,” Steve said. “Here, let me grab this from you.”

Steve took hold of Nathaniel’s tiny little suitcase. Upon Lila’s begging, Bucky gave her Ace and, in replacement, took Nathaniel’s diaper bag. Once we had all our bags in order, we were out the door, which I locked behind us. A limousine was waiting out front for us (Lila and Cooper were practically squealing with excitement at the sight). The driver, Happy Hogan, one of Tony’s personal assistants, came racing out of the driver’s seat door and helped us load our suitcases. He was red-faced, dressed in a suit and tie and looked very exasperated. I figured out why when we got into the limo: Aunt May was leaning against the window, her head in her hands, and Peter was tapping on the screen the separates the driver from the passengers.

“Have you guys met Happy?” Peter said, still rapping on the screen. “Happy’s Tony’s driver! Which means, he’s _our_ driver today. Isn’t that — isn’t that cool?! Hey, Happy, Happy, how long have you been working with Tony? Happy?”

“Peter,” Aunt May interrupted as we took our seats inside. “Peter, Mr. Hogan put up the screen three minutes after he picked us up and think it was for a reason.”

Peter raised his eyebrow. “I — I don’t…”

“ _You’re driving him crazy,”_ Aunt May enunciated.

“Pffft,” Peter scoffed. “No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are,” came Happy’s muffled voice, and we laughed.

The limousine was a nice car, even nicer than Bucky’s car, which Peter drooled over every time he saw it. It was nice and air conditioned with glasses of champagne and ice water on the sides. ‘Stark’ was written in bold on the ground. I peered through the window, watching as people turned to look at the ostentatious car driving down the street. Because it was such a large, cumberous vehicle, it took a little longer to get to Tony’s house. Peter, Lila and Cooper joked around, taking their turns holding Ace, who loved all the attention. When the limo came to a stop, we got out briskly in a systematic fashion, gathered up our suitcases and walked up the private elevator. Lila, Cooper, and Laura have yet to see the inside of the Stark Tower, and they were in absolute awe, mouth wide-open as the glass elevator passed through all the floors. When we made to the top floor, the penthouse level, Tony and Pepper were already waiting, sipping glasses of orange juice with a suitcase beside them.

Tony got up. “Welcome to my humble abode,” he said as we stepped out of the elevator.

Steve snorted. “ _Humble_ ,” he repeated.

Tony frowned. “Ms. Barton and little Bartons, this is Pepper.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said, walking forward and shaking Laura’s free hand. “Nathaniel’s gotten so big! Can I hold him?”

“Of course,” Laura said and she passed her baby off to Pepper. Pepper did a lot more of the nitty-gritty red tape paperwork kind of stuff and, at times, it felt like she was busier than Tony. She hasn’t had the opportunity to come over for dinner or do social gatherings as much as Tony, but she has meet the Bartons a couple times before so it wasn’t like Laura was passing off her children to a stranger. “Everything you’ll need for Nathaniel is in his bags. You might need to get some more diapers. Lila and Cooper can help, of course, and you have my number, yes?”

Pepper nodded. “Have you on speed dial, actually, and I have a lot of fun things planned for tonight! Are you guys excited?”

“Yeah!” Cooper and Lila said together, and she got a reaffirming bark from Ace

“You still have all of his toys and food and medication and stuff, right?” Bucky said as he picked up Ace.

“Still in the kitchen where you and Tony left it a few days ago.” —she shot Tony a disapproving look before saying—, “even though I asked Tony to _move it_.”

“I was reading Peter’s science project proposal!” Tony defended.

“Really?!” Peter exclaimed.

“Don’t use Peter as an excuse,” Pepper scolded. “Anyway, all of Ace’s belongings are still there and I’m sure Happy and I will be happy to walk him morning and night, right?” Happy sighed in disbelief at that comment

Bucky nodded. “He gets antsy when he doesn’t have his walk in, but don’t go too far. He can’t walk too far on those three legs.”

“Of course,” Pepper said. “Bucky, Ace will be fine.” Bucky sighed with relief.

“Okay, now that we promised all the parents their children safe,” Tony said, shooting Bucky a sarcastic smile, “we can get going.”

On that note, we followed Tony outside where the plane was waiting. It looked exactly like the one we flew in when we went to Florida: massive with blue stripes running across the side and _Stark_ labeled across the side, as well. Happy helped us get the luggage onto the plane. Though Tony insisted that we didn’t need to worry about the luggage, Peter insisted on helping Happy. When all the suitcases were inside, we went to sit down. Yes. Exactly like the one in Florida with large, plush chairs, a plasma TV, a stereo system and small little area for food and drink. It was pretty excessive for a flight that was only an hour and a half, but this was Tony Stark. Because we were still high profile witnesses in a huge trial, there was extra security — another S.H.I.E.L.D. plane was going to be following us, probably ready to shoot down or take any missile that were directed toward this plane. A few S.H.I.E.L.D. agents were cooped up in a little corner, but I didn’t recognize them. Steve nodded toward them in respect and that was really the only interaction we had with them.

The flight was fast and thankfully very smooth. Laura slept most of time, which wasn’t surprising considering that she was raising three kids, really four kids if I included myself. Bucky was looking out the window, still in awe at the huge, private plane. I tried reading _Romeo and Juliet_ but it never made any sense — Shakespeare never made any sense. I bought my own copy just so that I could scribble notes on the side to understand what was going on. Peter, who was at first trying to keep himself busy by doing some of his summer homework, lost interest and went to sit by me. “Mm, I wouldn’t waste your time reading that book. Let’s be honest, just get a movie and read the No Fear Shakespeare Sparknotes. Tip, though, don’t read the analysis, especially if you need to write a paper on it.”

“Isn’t that cheating?” I said.

“Well, _technically_ but—” Peter started.

“Peter, are you telling Wanda to cheat when she’s trying to do her school work?” May said in disbelief. That caught Steve and Bucky’s attention, and Steve looked at Peter with a disapproving look.

Peter’s face flushed red. “That’s not — I wasn’t, I was trying to help her.”

“By cheating,” May said.

“You know, Peter,” Bucky said. He readjusted himself so that he could look at Peter straight on. “Cheating is never the way to go in school, especially if you want to be successful. Haven’t you heard the phrase cheaters never prosper?”

Steve snorted. “You didn’t read a single book in high school!”

Bucky chuckled. “No, I didn’t, and I saved myself a lot of time. Sometimes shortcuts are okay. But you could always check out the modern english versions of Shakespeare. I’m pretty sure all the libraries have them.”

“I should check those out! I never even thought about it,” Peter said. “What were they called?”

“Bucky!” Steve groaned. We laughed, a happy, whole-hearted laugh.

When the flight was over, Happy beat everyone outside to help us out the plane and then help sort through the luggage. We were at one of the international D.C. airports, a nice, open field where Tony was allowed to land his private plane. Though it was 8:30, there was still plenty of natural light. It was humid and in the few seconds that I was waiting outside, the red t-shirt I was wearing was already sticking to my back. I pulled my sunglasses from out of my carry-on bag and when I looked up I saw the rest of my handlers: Natasha, Sam, Sharon and now Phil Coulson, turning to look at us. Even in the blistering heat, Coulson, this older man with short brown hair and thin lips, was still wearing a suit. He was holding a briefcase and behind him were two other agents: Melinda May and Daisy Skye — Steve told me they were the ones that went on raids with him and Nat. They were etching forward now, and the closer they came, the bigger everyone’s smiles grew. Sharon was wearing a pleasant looking blue-jean dress and Sam was dressed in some shorts and a t-shirt. While Sharon and Sam looked almost the same as they had the last time they were over, Natasha looked much different. Her once fiery red hair was now dyed this pale blonde color and it was longer, more grown out with gentle wavy hair. She was holding herself more straight up, as though she wasn’t worried about who would see her anymore. Nat was wearing this white scalloped tank top, a pair of jeans and thigh-high camel boots. I liked the red hair better but she still looked beautiful, as usual.

I was in Sharon’s arms before I knew what was going on. She smelled liked flowers. I missed Sharon more than I expected. Beside me, I could see Sam reaching for Steve, either a handshake or maybe a hug, but Steve passed Sam without sparing a thought. Steve went straight for Natasha. They stared at each other a couple of seconds like Steve had just came back from war… and then their arms were around each other, gripping onto each other as if their lives depended on it. Sharon and I looked over at Sam, who was looking on at Steve and Natasha in absolute shock and disdain. Bucky came to Sam’s side and patted him on the back, “Steve would have never done that to me.”

“Shut up,” Sam said, pushing Bucky away.

Steve turned to Sam, laughing. “Sorry,” he said, sheepishly.

“Yeah, yeah,” Sam muttered. He looked at Steve unhappily and then he broke into a smile. “I’m messing with you. How’ve you been? Taking care of this fool, alright?” Sam gestured toward Bucky.

“Bucky’s a handful, isn’t he?” Steve said.

“Hey!” Bucky exclaimed. Steve just laughed, and he patted Bucky’s shoulders comfortingly.

“I assume you all had a pleasant flight,” Agent Coulson said. He had a hint of laughter as he looked from Steve and Bucky; Phil Coulson greatly admired Steve the moment Fury recruited him for his work both in the army and as a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. When Coulson found out that he could work with Steve, he was elated, almost gushing.

Coulson led us out of the runway and toward a line of black SUVs with S.H.I.E.L.D. agents waiting outside, guns all visible from where they were standing. We broke into groups, and I followed Steve, Nat, Bucky and Laura into the middle SUV. Accompanying us would be a driver and another S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. I was wedged in the back between Bucky and Laura in the far back. We moved in unison off the runway jet and onto the main road. D.C. looked a lot like New York with the sea of cars bumper to bumper on the highway and, the closer we got the city, the more and more skyscrapers appeared. The sun was nearly set by now and all that was left were streaks of pink and orange. Looking out the sky, it made the city even more beautiful. I could see the Washington Monument from the car as we drove past it, and it was unbelievable. It was _massive_ , commanding all the attention, despite the chaos of people swirling around it. I kept staring at it, even as we drove past it. When it was out of sight, I sighed.

I looked at Nat and Steve. He was hunched over, listening to Natasha whisper softly in Steve’s ear. He looked perplexed and then he started to laugh. As though they knew I was thinking about them,, Nat and Steve looked behind me, Nat outstretching her hand to touch mine.

She smiled. “I missed you, Wanda. And I like the eyes,” she complimented.

“And I like the hair,” I said in response.

“As much as Steve’s new hair?” Nat asked, brushing her fingers across Steve’s cheek and he laughed.

It was a pretty short drive, with a few extra minutes because we had to make sure all three cars stayed together. When the drivers pulled open, I peered out the window quickly. The hotel might have looked average to someone who wasn’t paying close attention. My eyes traced along the brick building, stopping at the gold letters that spelled out _Four Seasons Hotel_. Above the name was a golden looking, intricately designed leaf — or perhaps that was a tree… It was a huge brick building with glossy, well-trimmed hedges and men and women in suits standing by the doorway. There were too many men and women in suits for them to just be hotel workers, so I could only assume that some of them were S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. My thoughts were confirmed as some of the agents out front began to swarm around the cars the minute we parked. They frantically grabbed our suitcases and rushed us through the doorways. As I caught sight of the lobby, my mouth dropped open. It was a vast lobby. The color scheme of various shapes of brown and steel blue went perfectly with the sprawling marble floors and pillars. A roaring fire stood at one end of the lobby behind rustic looking gates, surrounded with black alabaster mantels that matched the small tables and cabinets made from the same materials. The same plant was strewn throughout the lobby: trumpet lilies (I recognized it because that type of flower was Sharon’s favorite).

Peter came to my side, letting go of his suitcase and sharing an equally shocked look on his face. “Little bit nicer than our apartments, huh?” Peter muttered.

Steve and Coulson went to check in; a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent was shadowing their every move. I looked around and noticed that we had our own personal body guard. There hadn’t been a reason for this many people with guns to be around me in a long time, but I suppose the closer we were to where Hydra Agents were being kept, the higher the level of security. Melinda May and Daisy Skye were joined by a few other S.H.I.E.L.D. agents and they were looking over a few pieces of paper with Natasha muttering something under her breath to them. I assumed they were looking at floor plans, probably trying to figure out who would guard what room and vice versa. I looked away from the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, my eyes scanning the faces of the other tourists or businessmen rushing through the lobby, minds completely absorbed in their own lives. I was starting to be suspicious again of every stranger that passed me. Probably just a side effect of knowing I was in the same state as Rumlow. Fury assured Bucky and me that all loyal Hydra agents or affiliates were in custody — or at least too scared to do anything to bring them to the limelight so we shouldn’t be too worried. But still…

I heard footsteps approaching, and I looked up: Steve and Coulson were coming back with sets of roomkeys. “We rented out an entire floor just for us,” Coulson said. He was flipping through his iPad now. “Peter and May. Steve and Nat. Bucky and Sam.

“Really?” Sam said. “You pick her over me? You guys don’t have to be married anymore.”

“Would you focus?” Steve said, his face flushed red.

“Tony, you and I are going to be sharing room, which will be just a delight. And Wanda, you’ll be sharing a room with Laura and Sharon,” Phil said. He and Steve worked to pass out the room keys. “I know it may be a little cramped for you three, but we want to make sure that Wanda has a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent with her. Your former handlers will all be armed and there will be plenty of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents posted around the halls. Just for this week, no will have access to the ninth floor unless they have one of these key cards.” Coulson held up his own room key. “I’m sure you want to go sight-seeing Wanda but just at least while the trial is still going on, I’d prefer it if you stay indoors or at least on hotel property. Anyone time you so much as leave your hotel room — and yes, this includes you Nat — you’ll have a S.H.I.E.L.D. shadow just to be safe.”

That was a little disappointing, especially since I was looking forward to going sight seeing. I didn’t argue, however; just nodded and took my copy of the keycard. We broke into two groups again to take the elevator in turns, feeling a little guilty when we saw the line building behind us. No one seemed suspicious of the suited men and women escorting us. When we got up to the hall, Daisy escorted Sharon, Laura and me down the hall to our bedroom; Peter and May’s room were right across the hall. Sharon opened the door for us, insisting that we wait outside until she checked the room. She walked back to the doorway and nodded, and we went to join her. When we first walked inside, two large cabinets were on the right and the left was a little table with a teapot and coffee maker on it. We rounded the hallway and entered a the main room, nice and simple and open. Gray floral curtains were parted slightly, revealing a beautiful view of skyscrapers and letting in some hints of street light that casted over the gray plush couches and red throw pillows. Two double beds with white sheets and a small tan bench in front were on either side of the bedroom. Beside the entrance was a glass desk. Red tulips were perched in the corner of the desk and a set of pictures with drawings of flower pots. Walking past the beds was the doorway to the bathroom: marble floors, a huge shower and separate bathtub. I walked into the main room. Laura and Sharon were already starting to unpack.

“I can take the couch. It’s no problem,” I said.

“No, Wanda,” Sharon started.

“Really, it’s no problem Sharon. You’ve done so much for me that this is the least I could do for you,” I said. Sharon frowned and she opened her mouth to argue but I ended the conversation when I threw myself onto the couch, my suitcase beside me.

“Okay, okay,” Sharon said, raising her hands up. “Never seen two people actually fight over who has to get the couch. Why don’t you guys get unpacked?”

Laura was already opening up her suitcase and hanging up her clothes. I came to join her, focusing on getting the suits hung up to prevent it from wrinkling. We were finished another twenty minutes later, all of our belongings folded and organized in the cabinets. I finished before Sharon and Laura so I opened up _Romeo and Juliet_. I got through a page before I realized I might take Bucky and Peter’s advice. I closed my book in frustration.

“Are you guys hungry?” Sharon asked.

I looked at the time. It was 8:15. “Um, not really,” I said, honestly. “We ate before we flew out.”

“Oh okay.” Sharon glanced at her phone. “Some of us are heading up to the restaurant’s lounge so you’re invited. You don’t have to eat if you don’t want.”

“I could use some wine,” Laura said. She pulled on her sandals and so I decided to join them.

When we walked out of the hotel room, I got a good glimpse at the surrounding hallway, Phil Coulson wasn’t lying when he said that the place was guarded heavily with S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. Two of them were flanking each doorway and, as Sharon, Laura and I started walking toward the elevator, the two guarding our room started following us. It was awkward standing in the elevator with the two S.H.I.E.L.D. agents standing behind us, watching us. But soon the elevator was over and the doors parted to reveal the lounge at the Bourbon Steak, tiles floors forming intricate designs and the cherry oak tables were lit dimly from the overhead lights. There was bar on one side, stretching far with every different type of alcohol I could imagine. The bartender looked up to see us walking inside and then he gestured toward one of the largest tables in the lounge area. It was already cramped: Steve, Nat and Bucky on one side; Peter, Sam and May on the other. One of the bartenders went to grab a few extra stools and moved it toward our table where Sharon, Laura and I sat. Bowls full of oysters, nachos and hummus were spread throughout the table, a glass of wine or beer in front all the adults and a soda in front of Peter.

“What took you guys so long?” Sam said.

“Wanda probably got them lost,” Bucky said. “I’ve had to deal with her sense of direction.”

“I got us lost _one time_ ,” I protested. I thought bitterly back to when Bucky and I were driving down from S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters and I typed in the address wrong. We ended up on the wrong highway going in the wrong direction. “Where’s Tony?”

“He’s somewhere,” Steve muttered. “Probably trying to buy the hotel or something. Are you guys hungry?”

“Starved,” Sharon said. She grabbed hold of the menu and started thumbing through it. “Did overtime at the S.H.I.E.L.D. base today trying to keep track of all the plea bargains and helping Everett Ross.” (Everett Ross was the lead attorney on this case).

A second later, a waiter came to take our orders. Sharon and Laura both decided to share a burger. Sharon got herself a glass of a red wine; Laura indulged herself with some type of cocktail and I just got a lemonade. As we waited for our drinks, I listened to Sharon and Sam talk about their time away. Sharon was stationed in Germany with four other S.H.I.E.L.D. agents (she never gave us their names for their own privacy) and didn’t have a permanent place of residence. She lived in stingy hotel after stingy hotel, trying to keep a low profile as she pulled Hydra apart even more agent by agent. A good number of the Hydra agents in Germany had yet to discover the Red Skull’s demise so they were still cooped up in the same place the files Bucky pulled from the base in New Jersey said they would be at. As more Hydra agents were arrested, the more they started going into hiding. Still, most of the lower-level Hydra agents were arrested. Once they found out the Red Skull was done for, most accepted the bargains Sharon and Ross offered. The Hydra agents turned against the corrupt government officials that allowed Hydra to come to power the way it did. There were other task forces stationed in countries that were highly associated with Hydra but as soon as Germany was taken down, the rest of the mob began to fall apart. That included Sokovia, which was great to hear. After the trial, Sharon was in charge of leading the transportation for all Hydra agents to their new respective homes.

“Where are they going?” I asked.

“We have a few places picked out for them,” Sharon said. “Really, it depends on who took the plea bargain and who didn’t. Arnim Zola gave us the most information so he’ll have a little bit more of a cushy place to live but people like Rumlow, they’ll be spending the rest of their waking days in a prison called the Raft. Kind of like Alcatraz except it’s only going to be for Hydra agents.”

We already had our drinks and when Sharon finished, another waiter came to bring her and Laura their food. It smelled delicious but I couldn’t eat. The more and more Sharon talked about Hydra, the more and more it came upon me that tomorrow I was going to be testifying in court. I swallowed it down and listened to Sam. He didn’t have as nearly of an eventful few months as Sharon. His therapy group was a great success, meaning that the soldiers he was working with seemed to be really improving. “It’s some pretty heavy shit going on in our session,” Sam said, sighing. “Some stuff you leave there, other stuff you take with you and it’s my job to figure how to help them carry it. I keep thinking it’ll get better and that someday I won’t be needed but as long as war is around, soldiers are always going to keep coming back.”

“That’s some pretty intense stuff,” Steve said. He looked very serious as he stared at Sam and for once, Sam didn’t look he was just joking around.

“Yeah, brother. We all got the same problems. Guilt. Regret. Every soldier that comes back from war and it just never gets better…” Sam said. There was a long pause and then he smiled. “I kind of miss my wingman, though,” Sam said, picking up a crumpled up a napkin and throwing it at Steve. “If you ever wanna come down to the VA and make me look cool with the girl at the front desk, I wouldn’t mind that.”

They joked around a little bit more before we went to Natasha. She was having a little bit of harder time opening up, probably years of being a KGB and S.H.I.E.L.D. agent taught her that. She took another swig of alcohol, no idea what it was but probably pretty strong because even she winced a little bit. “During my little hiatus, I went back to Russia to try to find my parents. Hence the blonde hair. Had to keep my identity a secret since I’m pretty sure the KGB still has a target on my back… When I got to the Motherland, all I found were two little gravestones by a chainlink fence. I pulled some weeds and planted some flowers. Oh well. We have what we have when we have it.”

We went silent, the air heavy as Natasha’s story set in. Nat didn’t look upset. She hardly _ever_ looked like anything besides determined and inquisitive but there was something somber about her expression. Something truly sad that came with years of having no family. “Shit…” Bucky muttered.

Steve cleared his throat. “We’re gonna head out, if that’s alright.” He didn’t wait for an answer. Laura and Sharon were already out of their seats, letting out Steve and Nat, their hands together.

“So are you guys a thing?” Peter asked before the two could leave.

“Peter!” May exclaimed.

“What?” he said. “I’m just wondering.”

Natasha smiled. She looked down at Steve’s fingers, tracing their way around her own and said, “When your friendship is founded on the fact that you need the other person to stay alive, that friendship becomes a lot more intimate that you’d expect.” She smiled again, half-answering, half-not answering Peter’s question, and she led Steve out of the lounge.

For a long second I stared after them and then I got to my feet and ran after them. As I got up to race after Steve and Natasha, a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, one that seemed to appear from thin air, followed me shortly. “Hey, wait!” I called after them. “Can I—…” I stopped short. “I, uh, I just… I was tired and I figured I should probably get some rest. I can take the next elevator,” I added just as the doors closed. “Or not.”

Natasha laughed. “It’s okay, Wanda. Sorry if I killed the mood at dinner.”

“So that’s where you’ve been?” Steve said before I could respond. “I thought you said you were traveling. Going to Italy and Paris.”

“I was there for a little bit,” Natasha admitted. The way she and Steve conversed was much different than the way she spoke with the others: very light-hearted and completely comfortable being absolutely true to herself. “I wanted to see the Eiffel Tower, and I mean actually see it as a tourist, not an agent. Personally, I preferred Italy. Little bit safer and I liked the food there better.”

The elevator door opened to our floor and we walked outside. Tony was walking in circles, exasperated and shouting. “No, no, no! How many times have I told that that isn’t how we’re running things? I’ve already made myself perfectly clear on that point! Just shut it down already. I don’t care what you have to do. Say I’m flying there in a few days. Do something. Just get the job done!” He closed the phone, huffing.

Steve cleared his throat. “Tony? Is everything alright?”

Tony looked up, a little startled at the three of us walking over to him. “Oh, didn’t see you guys. How was dinner? Heard that steak place was pretty good?”

“Yeah, it was nice,” Steve said. “Who was on the phone with you?”

“An old friend,” Tony said, tucking his phone away as he went to approach the three of us. “Colonel Rhodes — Rhodey. He’s taking a little bit of time off from the military and I’m lent him one of my houses in Malibu. There’s a huge rave going on, and I’m not too happy about it. People these days. You can never trust them.” He looked over at Natasha, “Remember when it would have been your job to shut down a party like that?”

Natasha laughed. “I think it’s time to bury the hatchet, Tony.” She looked over at Steve and me. “Long before Fury was first interested in recruiting Tony for this job, I was monitoring some of the weapons Tony was manufacturing. Natalie Rushman. I was supposed to be Pepper’s assistant.”

“Nearly had a heartache when I realized who you were,” Tony muttered, bitterly. He turned to look at Steve. “Sorry I missed dinner. I was pretty busy. My stock is doing a lot better than expected. Making plenty of money today.”

Steve sighed. “Don’t you have enough money already?”

“Hey! I don’t want to hear this from you,” Tony said, shaking his head. “Let’s face it: an artist doesn’t make that much money and you need to support your wife.”

“Tony,” Natasha said, sternly.

“I was talking about Bucky,” he said, defensively. Steve rolled his eyes and Nat and I just laughed.

Steve had gotten the job at the comic books studios and he was supposed to start once the trial was over. He was elated, already sketching out drawings and brainstorming with Bucky and me about storylines. Apparently the new job came with some pretty big paychecks as well. Steve never really cared about the money, though. At least that’s what he told me; he mostly said something about finally being happy to have legitimate roots in New York again. From what I’ve heard from Tony, too, was that his business was doing great. The building of the Quinjet was coming along great and he was already getting plenty of offers for purchases. His relationship with Pepper was blooming as well and apparently Happy has been keeping an engagement ring in his pocket for the past month. Tony didn’t know when he wanted to pop the question but he also knew that he wanted it to be soon.

Looking at Tony, Steve and Natasha, I felt tears brim my eyes. Steve’s arms were wrapped around Nat’s waist, and she was leaning into his chest. She looked so comfortable and happy there with him. Tony was looking at the two of them, smiling, in those pink sunglasses he wore the first day I met him. I was glad Tony didn’t change much after everything S.H.I.E.L.D. put him through: still incredibly intelligent, devoted to his job, and, despite the nonchalant and joking facade, devoted to the ones he loved. Steve, Nat and Tony looked _great_. They were settled in, their lives were finally theirs again. Even Natasha. Maybe she would still be a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent but she had Steve, and this kind of a relationship wasn’t something she has had in awhile. She deserved it. She deserved someone who loved her and would take care of her. She and Steve both did. Everything was going to be alright for them, and I started crying as I realized that.

“Wanda, are you okay?” Steve asked. “Nervous about tomorrow?”

I smiled a watery smile. “Uh, yeah, a little,” I said, even though that wasn’t completely true. Bucky and I were the two key witnesses in the trial, so our direct and cross examinations would last the longest. Ross was under the assumption that the two of us were going to be the only witness called tomorrow. That was a lot of pressure considering that our testimonies were the first establishment of Hydra’s guilt.

“Don’t worry about it kid.” Tony said. He put his arm around me. This is kind of like all my press conferences, alright. You’ll get a few questions you won’t expect, but just breathe. Think about what you’re saying before you say it.”

“The facts are on our side, Wanda,” Nat added. She broke apart from Steve and her arms were around me in a second, intertwining her grasp with Tony’s and my own. Steve joined us a second later.

“Thank you for everything,” I whispering. This was just one of the thousand times that I’ve said thank you to the three of them, but that would never be enough. _Ever._ Not for everything that they’ve done for me. Not after they nearly gave up their lives, not after Clint _did_ give up his lives. “Thank you,” I repeated, and I clung onto them a little bit longer.

Natasha smiled. “We’re the Avengers, kid. We’d do anything to protect each other.”

There was nothing else we needed to say after that. We stood there, holding each other for a couple seconds longer, not caring about the other S.H.I.E.L.D. agents standing in the hallway. We broke apart eventually, as soon as we heard footsteps and the sound of approaching, echoing voices. I looked back at the elevator. Sharon was talking to Laura in the back; Bucky and Sam were throwing Peter’s phone back and forth high above Peter’s head and May was just laughing. It felt perfect. Nat was back. Sharon and Sam were with us now. It was home.

Peter jumped up and caught hold of his phone. “Ha!” He yelled.

“Yeah, okay, you’re a real Spiderman,” Sam muttered.

“We let him do that,” Bucky added when they approached Steve, Nat, Tony and me.

“What are you guys still doing up?!” came a very harsh, very _angry_ voice. I turned. A much older man with creased skin particularly in his forehead and hair swept back to reveal stern looking eyes was approaching us. He was dressed in a dark suit. I would have recognized the man solely on the way he moved: stiffly and briskly as though moving too slow was simply a waste of money and time. It was Everett Ross. “It’s almost 11:00. You! You!” He pointed to Sharon, “ _You_ were supposed to make sure Wanda gets enough sleep tonight! The trial starts at 9:30 sharp and I don’t want my most important witness falling asleep on the stand!”

“We’ll get her to sleep, Ross,” Sharon said. She already had one hand on my shoulder.

Ross nodded, taking a deep breath. He looked at the rest of us. “And, you guys get to bed,” he said feebly; he was already walking toward his room.

After Ross’s little outburst, we parted separate ways. I took a shower in the massive bathroom, Sharon blow dryed my hair for me as I told her about my upcoming plans for senior year and then she hurried me to bed. I wrapped myself tightly in blankets and I snuggled up on the couch, staring out the window. Of course I was nervous about the trial tomorrow, but the past didn’t scare me as much. It was just my life, and I wasn’t going to hide from it. Not anymore.

* * *

 

The alarm woke me up abruptly the next morning. It was 7:30. Sharon and Laura were both already up, showered and dressed formally. They picked out my outfit when I was asleep and I quickly changed into the fluted black pencil skirt, the nice flowy blouse and matching jacket that went with the skirt. On went the black tights underneath. Sharon and Laura ushered me into the bathroom and the two women fussed over my hair and makeup. Light and simple but still attractive for the makeup and a slicked back ponytail for the hair. They hurried me upstairs where everyone else was waiting at the breakfast place, dressed in the same business formal clothes that I was wearing. My eyes fell on Bucky and Peter: they looked the most out of place in their suits. Bucky’s metal fingers were gripping his fork uneasily. Beside him was Peter, cutting up an omelet, even though he didn’t look that interested in eating it. Peter gestured toward the chair next to him and I took it quietly. It was a nice little restaurant. Glass windows wrapped around the entire restaurant, letting in the bright sunlight. Today wasn’t the day to enjoy the scenery either. I hardly touched my food and then it was time to leave.

It was only about a twenty minute drive to the D.C. court but Ross wanted us there early. We drove in those huge SUVs, the same ones that picked us up at the airport. The gleaming courthouse stood high under the blazing sun, made of marble and absolutely high class. Because this was such a high profile case, cops were parked outside the courthouse, sectioning off where the mass of reporters and cameramen could stand. Sharon handed Peter and me sunglasses to help conceal our identities but it wasn’t necessary. When we got outside and started walking up to the courthouse, the amount of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents that wrapped around us as we made our way to the door would have made it impossible for any reporters to get a good glimpse at our faces. It was a lot calmer inside, as expected. All we heard as we made our way to the biggest courtroom there was the sound of whirring from the air conditioning. Sharon and Steve went into the courtroom first. I stepped inside. My eyes fell on the rows and rows of benches where the other witnesses that weren’t testifying today would be sitting; then to the two council tables, the one for the prosecution where Everett Ross was already waiting and then the one of for the defense, the one farthest from the jury. At the very front was a high standing chair and a microphone with a portrait of the judge. He was this _incredibly_ young man with cropped short blonde hair and a thin moustache and beard. In front was the plaque with his name labeled in gold lettering: _Thor Odinson_.

“Good, you’re here!” Ross said, running up toward me. His eyes run over my appearance. “Yes. You guys look like star witnesses. Let’s get you prepped. Judge Odinson wants us to start as early as possible.” He rolled his eyes.

“You don’t sound happy about that,” I said.

Ross snorted. “Yes, well if you become a lawyer, being at least twenty years older than the judge, who has absolute power over you, can sometimes get a little annoying.”

We prepped for the trial for a little bit longer, going over some of our questions and then asking a couple of cross questions. The hardest would be the probing about my and Pietro’s past and especially trying to poke holes in my mental sanity. All these questions were designed to target my credibility. When the DA walked inside, Jasper Sitwell, a fairly small man with olive colored skinned and absolutely no hair on his face or head, I took my seat beside Bucky in the first row behind the prosecution counsel table. And then, I saw the Hydra agents being almost herded inside the courtroom by a line of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. They were forced into suit and ties, which looked paranormal considering that most Hydra agents lived in dark shirts and cargo pants. The first few men I didn’t recognize, and then Zemo and Arnim Zola passed. They took the plea bargain so they already had their sentencing but they were required to testify against Rumlow. Even though they were supposedly on the prosecution’s side, a sense of uneasiness passed over me. The scar where I hit Zemo in the head with his gun was still prominent. He looked at me angrily. My eyes darted to the person walking into the courtroom. Rumlow. He was at the very back, feet and hands cuffed, an implementation that only extended to him. He was a little thinner but still plenty bulky, and his hair wasn’t as thick. Nonetheless, Rumlow was just as terrifying. When his eyes rested on me, he gave this twisted sneer and let out a small chuckle.

Bucky, who was sitting next to me, turned to see what I was staring at. “Don’t pay attention to them,” he said. “There’s plenty of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents here and those handcuffs are charged with electricity. He makes one wrong move and Phil Coulson can send enough volts of electricity to sterilize him.” Bucky was trying to add humor, but I couldn’t laugh.

When the jury came in, my stomach twisted again: twelve strangers, varying in age and race, walked inside donning a mix of slacks, sweater vests, dresses, pantsuits and other formal attire. Just like I did, they took in the courtroom quickly, eyes trailing the Hydra agents and then falling on me. I wiggled in my seat, eager for the attention to turn to the judge, who walked in afterwards. His portrait didn’t do his physical appearance justice. He was dressed in a black robe, the top of his white collar and black tie peaking through slightly. I was amazed that the judge could find a robe that fit someone as massive as he was. Judge Odison must have dabbled in heavy-weight fighting because he looked like he would have given Steve or Bucky a run for their money. We stood in unison as Judge Odison walked into the courtroom and took his place at the front.

A few pretrial matters went on, followed by opening statements. Ross’s was compelling, detailed and vast. He, in particular, emphasized the piles upon piles of evidence that suggested every single defendant in the room was guilty. Ross mentioned Bucky and me the most in his speech, outlining how important we were to the case. When it was time for Jasper Sitwell to give his speech, it was vastly different. He had a tough case, and I could tell with the weak defenses he had. The best arguments he presented were how easily he could discredit the prosecution’s witnesses. He cleared his throat, ended it abruptly and then went to take his seat. It was Ross’s turn to start calling witnesses.

“The prosecution calls Wanda Maximoff to the stand,” Ross said. I got up in on the stand, my heart racing. I looked at Everett Ross, this confident, very intimidating smile plastered into face. My eyes trailed to Peter, who was grinning, even though this was supposed to a serious matter. “Can you please introduce yourself to the court?”

I looked to the jury. “My name is Wanda Maximoff. I just turned eighteen a month ago.”

“Was your name always Wanda Maximoff?” Ross asked.

I shook my head. “No. Wanda Maximoff was originally a cover name for me to hide my true identity, but after a very eventful year, I prefer to be called Wanda. My real name is Scarlet Lungu.” The two words resonated throughout the courtroom.

“Why did you need a cover name?”

“Because my brother, Pietro, and I were on Hydra’s kill list. S.H.I.E.L.D. brought me to Manhattan to protect me, and so they made a whole new identity for me as well. Wanda Maximoff was part of that identity. It was just another layer of protection,” I said.

“Why were you and Pietro on Hydra’s kill list?”

I bit my bottom lip. “It’s kind of a long story…”

“Please, Ms. Maximoff, for the jury,” Ross said, gesturing toward the twelve strangers.

I nodded. “I grew up in Sokovia…” I started.

I launched forward with my story. To keep me from narrating for too long, Ross prompted me with questions about our life on the streets, Strucker, what Pietro had to do, the buyers, how I shot Strucker. I had to identify Hydra agent after Hydra agent, pointing to them and being forced to look into their eyes. Rumlow’s eyes narrowed as I identified him for the jury. My testimony seemed endless. It took nearly forty five minutes before I started going into detail about Strucker’s death. From there, we touched on the few years Pietro and I were on the run. None of my handlers knew anything about the years in between Pietro joining Hydra and Steve and Nat finding me. There wasn’t much to tell. We only ran into the kill squad twice. That was when I met Doom and Zemo. We left with a few scrapes but it was nothing more than that. After Ross finished questioning me about the water park, Judge Odinson offered for a short recess so that I could collect myself; I unintentionally burst into tears when I told the jury about what happened with Pietro. Bucky gave me a few tissues, I drank a glass of water and then I was back on the stand.

We glossed over my time in Manhattan; Ross didn’t find it pertinent to go over my attempts to reintegrate myself into normal high school life. We focused a lot of what happened at the science expo and then spent another hour, probably more, going over what happened at the Hydra base. Eight months later and it was still difficult to talk about. Ross only barely glanced over what happened with Rumlow and I spoke in shaky words. The story culminated with what happened in the Red Skull’s office. How Rumlow stabbed me, how Steve stopped Rumlow from strangling me and how I shot the Red Skull.

“How have you been recovering?” Ross asked.

It was the last question. I sighed. “Okay, all things considering. Better than my therapist thought I would be… But still. It’s hard to get over what Hydra did to me.”

Ross thanked me and then Jasper Sitwell stood up. The little comfort I established with the jury was gone now as the cross examination was about to start. Sitwell’s questions weren’t too difficult and I evaded a lot of the traps Sitwell was trying to set up. Sitwell was a snake, and his gaze made me squirm uneasily in my seat but his questions were mostly focused on the fact that my mental health could have been severely affected and thus my recount of events couldn’t have been completely trusted. Thankfully, he never touched the topic of what happened with Rumlow, which was a major concern of mine. Then, the questioning was over and Judge Odinson dismissed me. We stopped for an hour and a half lunch break. Coulson led the Hydra agents out; I wasn’t sure where they were going but we were sent to the courthouse cafeteria. A nice little place with cold drinks and delicious sandwiches.

“Good job, Maximoff,” Ross said seriously. “Mr. Barnes, you’re up next. Make sure you look over your questions and prep for cross. It’ll probably be a little bit harder on you.”

It was the breath of fresh air to be out of the courtroom. The air was much less tense. Bucky, on the other hand, was on edge. “This trial is completely useless. Even Sitwell knows he’s wasting his time trying to defend Hydra agents.”

“It’s not so much Rumlow whose name he’s trying to clear,” Steve said. “It’s everyone else.”

Peter, who was quietly sitting beside me stirring tomato soup, said, “Are you okay?”

I nodded. “Yeah. I’m just glad it’s over.” Peter looked at me hesitantly, staring into my eyes and then his hand reached forward. He pressed it against my fingers lightly. When I didn’t pull away, he wrapped his fingers around mine. We stayed that way the entire time before we had to return to court.

Bucky was called forward now. His testimony and the juror’s reactions were much different than my own direct examination. Ross was asking Bucky extremely personal questions, asked him divulge all the previous Hydra missions. Some of the jurors’ looked like they were going into shock as Bucky had to talk about what the Kill Squad was and what he was expected to do. I felt horrified and extremely sad for Bucky. What he had to go through was awful, and I could tell reliving it didn’t help. His direct testimony lasted almost as long as mine. The cross examination was pretty brutal. Sitwell did a pretty damn good job at making Bucky look like a monster. Bucky’s face was red and his lips were curled into a snarl by the end of his questioning. When he was finished, Judge Odinson commanded in his booming voice that the court be dismissed for the day and that Ross would call his witness tomorrow. Bucky and I were drained so we were eager to get back to the hotel, to get some food from the restaurant upstairs.

“You doing alright man?” Sam asked Bucky. Bucky had barely touched his food.

“Just thinking,” Bucky admitted.

“About?” Steve asked.

Bucky sighed. “I haven’t had to think about a lot of the people I killed for a while, up until today at least.”

“Don’t do that to yourself,” Nat said. “You can’t change the past.”

“I know,” Bucky said, and sighed heavily. “I gotta stop running from the past.”

Bucky’s words struck me more than I expected. He had a point. Sue Storm always told me that I need to face the nightmares, need to understand them instead of just trying to push them away. I was finished testifying. _I could move on_. I didn’t want to forget the past because that would mean forgetting a part of myself. But now I could focus on the future.

“I think I’m gonna head back to the room,” Nat said. She stood up and looked over at Steve. “We’re on the chopping board for tomorrow so I think I should start going through some questions.”

“That’s my cue to go as well,” Steve said.

“I’ll walk you guys. I need to call Happy,” Tony added. The three of them got up.

“Are you going to be okay?” Steve asked Bucky.

Bucky nodded. He gave Steve a whole-hearted smile and said, “Yeah. I think so. What about you three?”

Natasha returned the smile. She wrapped her arm around Steve’s waist, pulling him close. “Yeah, I think so,” she said, looking into Steve’s eyes as she did.

“See you guys tomorrow,” Steve said. He patted Bucky on the back and brushed my shoulder as he walked past me. “If you need anything Wanda, we’ll be down the hall.”

“Might want to knock first, Wanda, otherwise you might walk in on something you don’t want to see,” Tony said as Steve and Nat left the restaurant. “Anyway, see you guys tomorrow morning.” Tony stopped in front of Peter and then said, “You and I will need to talk about that science project I know you’re working on.”

“Will do, Mr. Stark,” Peter said.

Then, Tony was gone. Sharon, Laura and Sam left to go the bar. Laura pressed a kiss on my forehead, Sharon gave me a huge hug and Sam punched Peter in the shoulder as they went past. I could hear them laughing all the way from the table. A real, easy, light-hearted laugh like they didn’t have a worry in the world. Bucky and May were still at the dinner table, picking through the leftover food on the table. Bucky didn’t look like his mind was still reeling from the testimony. He let out a heavy sigh of relief and then said, “I’m done with Hydra. Aren’t I?” Bucky didn’t wait for a response. He was _smiling_ . His shoulders were slumped. “ _I’m done_.”

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” I said.

“You wanna get something to drink?” May offered. She was smiling at Bucky, and he grinned. “Come on. Let’s get meet the others at the bar.” May put her hand on Bucky’s shoulder and they started off toward the bar. I watched as Bucky and May walked away, smiling as they did.

Peter groaned. “You don’t think Bucky’s going to try to hit on May, will he?”

I smiled. “Peter, I don’t think Bucky is someone you have to worry about.”

“Good. First it’s the landlord. Then Mr. Delmar. Then the guy that the Thai place,” Peter muttered. He rubbed his forehead with his brow. I laughed and put my arm around Peter’s shoulder. He looked for a second, eyes wide and then started laughing with me, too. “Are you sure you’re alright? I know that trial did a number on you.”

“I’ll be fine. It’s in the past, Peter, and I’m getting really tired of dwelling on the past,” I said. “Let’s go outside. To the courtyard. Sharon said it was really nice.”

“Yeah. As long as you don’t mind S.H.I.E.L.D. agents following us,” Peter joked.

He pushed the chair in behind me and I led us outside. It was a beautiful day. It wasn’t too hot and the sun wasn’t as bright as before. Large trees were growing out of circular-shaped gardens, with rustling green leaves provided plenty of shade for the brown-painted benches and the green and white cushions. Everything was lush, full of life. Pink and white flowers decorated the gardens, adding vibrancy and brightness. It was another plus that the courtyard wasn’t very crowded, either, besides a family of four and then an elderly couple. They didn’t look at Peter and me the same way that I’ve grown accustomed to. In fact, no one really cared that we were here. We were just people. Two normal teenagers. We settled into a loveseat. I let out a deep breath, allowing the warmth of the sun to hit my skin. Completely at peace.

“Thanks for not running away,” I said after a long moment.

“It would have been kind of a dick move if I left you,” Peter said, nonchalantly. I looked over at Peter and he was biting his lip. When he realized I was staring at him, he turned to look at me, flashing this goofy smile. The same one I saw when I first met Peter. “I’m here for you, Wanda. Whether we keep dating or not. Whether we stay live in the same state when we go off to college. _I’m still here for you_.”

He spoke firmly, a lot more firmly than I’ve ever heard him speak. I felt like I could fly. “I know.”

Peter nodded. “Good. And, I’m sure you getting tired of people asking you this but… are you okay? I mean, are you really okay?”

I didn’t speak at first. My recovery has been going well, _very well_ considering all the trauma I’ve been through. As I’ve been saying for so long, I wasn’t ready to resume our relationship that felt like it was rapidly moving forward. But my confidence in myself and in others were starting to recover. I smiled again, _really_ smiled like I did before Pietro joined Hydra. My life was restoring itself again. The pieces were falling back into place.

“I’m ready to start worrying about other things,” I said.

Peter smiled. He was running his fingers through his hair, uneasily and then he said, “Hey, so, you know how I’ve been fixing up some spare computers over the weekends to save up some money for college or a car or something like that?”

“Yeah,” I said.

“Well, I dipped into some of my savings accounts and…” Peter trailed off.

He shoved his hand into his pocket and fished around for a couple of seconds before pulling some long and very thin out of his pocket. It was a necklace: a long, thin metal chain that led to a massive teardrop shaped dark golden coin. As I looked more carefully, I noticed small, intricate engravings of what looked like waves in the gold coin. What caught my attention the most was the oval-shaped, red pendant in the center. It glittered in the direct sunlight.

“I, uh, I don’t know, I just saw it at this antique shop and I figured it would be something you like. Plus, the color, _scarlet_ you know. I mean, if you think it’s too much or if it reminds you of Pietro or Hydra or Sokovia or really anything that you don’t want to remember, you can always exchange it,” Peter rambled. His face was getting redder and redder by the second. “I don’t know, I just thought you might like it. And—”

I interrupted him with a kiss. It surprised me too, how sudden and passionately I grabbed hold of Peter. At first, he was surprised, not kissing me back the way he used to. And then, Peter’s lips pressed against mine, his hands wrapping around my waist tentatively. _It didn’t bother me_.

We pulled away from each other. Peter was grinning, the sides of his mouth practically touching his ears. “See, I was expecting something more like a thanks but that was good, too.”

I laughed. “Put it on me, will you?” I asked. I turned my back to Peter and swept my brown hair onto the left side of my shoulder. Peter swung the necklace around my neck, gently tightened the clasp and then pressed a gentle kiss on my throat. “It’s beautiful, Peter,” I said, choking on my last word. I leaned over, my face becoming very hot. I wiped away tears down my cheek.

“Wanda?” Peter asked. He lightly pressed his fingertips to my chin, making me look at him. He wiped the tears away. “Why are you crying?”

I sniffled. “I — I’m just _happy_. Really, really happy.”

Trying to express the way I felt would never be enough. Words would never fully be able to express what I was feeling. I pressed another kiss onto Peter’s cheek and pulled him into a hug. I had no idea what the future would hold for Peter and me. But it didn’t matter. Peter said it before: in ten years, whether we were married or still remembering our past relationship as we tried to explore new ones, it wouldn’t matter. He would still be here. So would Steve. And Nat. And Tony. Sam, Sharon, Laura and her children — my _siblings_. Family that would stay together through any trying times. They would be my home. I was home…

 _Finally_.  



End file.
